Tortured Souls
by Mona S
Summary: On the 63rd floor of the Time Warner Center lives Erik Rousseau, a talented, ill tempered musician and businessman, who has spent the last ten years of his life hiding from the watchful eyes of society. He is feared by all, or so he thinks. EC.
1. His only friends

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 1: His Only Friends

He sat on the black leather sofa, eyes closed, with a golden drink in a crystal glass. His other hand moved gently in the air, mimicking the melody of Verdi's Requiem as every note escaped the black speakers of the stereo system.

As the soloist began to sing, he flinched, just before his eyes popped open. Grabbing the remote, he shut the noise off, unable to tolerate the voice that was butchering the work of one of the greatest composers that had walked this earth.

"Yet another failure. Will they ever get it right?" he asked as he rose from his seat. Standing in front of the large glass window of his penthouse apartment, he looked up at the night sky, at the honey colored moon, as if waiting for the heavens to answer his question.

Then his golden eyes moved down, down at the miniscule cars below, at the little dots that moved on the sidewalks. An exhausted sigh escaped his lips. He should have been used to it my now. Being alone, that is.

"I was born alone, and I will die alone," he told himself over and over again. Yet every time he looked down at the city, a renewed desire to join society flared in him. If only he were normal. If only he did not have to wear the white mask that covered half his face.

His hand rose to gently touch the leather covering on his face, as if to make sure that the past ten years of his life had not been one horrible nightmare and that in reality his face had been perfect all along. But it was there. Always had been there and always would.

Surgery could not fix it. There was nothing modern science could do to help him. Nothing anyone could do to make him look more of a human than a monster that plagued the dreams of children.

"Mr. Rousseau." The timid voice of his housekeeper broke through his thoughts. Turning around, he saw the young girl at the threshold of the living room, with her hands entwined behind her back Her eyes barely rose to meet his.

"I'm finished sir, unless you need me to get anything else for you."

"No. That will be all Rachel."

The girl turned around and left. Rachel was mortified of him. And she had good reason to. The last three weeks her employer had thrown more glass objects in rage than she cared to remember. He screamed at virtually everyone who walked through his door. But that was nothing compared to the night he almost strangled a man during a heated conversation.

This was the end of the third week, and Rachel had no intentions of returning for a forth. She planed on calling the agency the next day and telling them to place her with another family. She had had enough of Erik Rousseau's temper.

Erik could not believe the girl had lasted that long. Most of his housekeepers quit within the week. He had gone through sixteen thus far. Erik knew that the next morning he would meet his seventeenth housekeeper.

Though he had lived most of his life in solitude, Erik could read people. In one glance he could tell whether one was honest, deceitful or weak. He knew that Rachel was not going to come back. He could not blame her. Having to serve a man with that sort of face and temper…he understood.

Walking over to his full bar, he refilled his glass with scotch. Music and alcohol. They were his only true friends. One filled his heart with passion, while the other erased every ounce of pain that was housed in his body. As long as they were by his side, he would be alright.

"Fuck people," he said out loud as he took another gulp of his drink. The sweet remedy ran down his throat and immediately began to take effect.

"Fuck everything."


	2. Doubtful Engagement

**I am sorry the chapter is short. I assure you this is the last one that will be of this length. I have already drafted the next two chapters and are each well over 2,000 words. **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 2: Doubtful Engagement

Christine DeMarco sat on her bed, her fingers unconsciously playing with the diamond ring that adorned the ring finger of her left hand.

She was engaged.

The idea of forever biding herself to Raoul Chatsworth, her boyfriend, now fiancé, made her uneasy.

Her violet eyes traveled to the framed photo of herself and Raul. He stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her close to him. His gold locks framed his sweet cream-colored face, making his brilliant dark brown eyes stand out like diamonds against velvet. They looked happy, perfect, and so much in love. But ever since the ring was placed on her finger, doubts that had not been there before suddenly emerged.

It was not fear that was causing these doubts. That she knew. She had dreamed about becoming a wife and having the family that life had never granted her since she was a child.

She should be happy, excited. What was wrong with her?

The clock struck twelve, its consecutive melodic rings breaking through her thoughts.

Taking a hair elastic from her nightstand, she pulled her long curls into a bun on the top of her head. Whenever she left it down she woke up the next morning looking like she had been in a bar fight and lost.

With a deep sigh, she lay down on the overused mattress. She reached out her steady, elegant fingers and shut the light off. But still, even with all the lights turned off, the room remained illuminated from the city lights.

She hated the hovel she had been living in for the past few years. She hated the squeaky, old floor, the chipping paint that hung onto the walls for its dear life, and the leaky pipes that always caused a mess in the hole in the wall the owner called a kitchen.

Shutting her eyes, she forced herself to sleep. Mrs. Giry had called her that evening, informing her of an opening for a housekeeper. Christine needed to report at the residence at 9:00, not a second later. But with the position came a warning. Apparently the man had a reputation.

_Go to sleep_, she told herself.

But she could not. Raoul was on her mind. The engagement had been the cause of many sleepless nights. She wanted someone to talk to, someone to help her.

There was her mother, though she rarely acted as such. She had been so overjoyed to hear that Christine was to be married. Her joy, however, was a result of the fact that Raoul was very well off financially. A rich son-in-law equaled a lifestyle upgrade for herself. Talking to her would have been a waste of Christine's breath.

Looking up at the dancing lights on her ceiling from neon signs and zooming cars, memories of her childhood stormed her mind. The angry voice of a man echoed in her ears followed by the cries and pleadings of a woman.

"No," she said out loud. Shifting in her bed, Christine pulled the covers tightly around herself. She was not going to let the memories of her past plague her now.

Drowning the voices in her head, Christine closed her eyes. Her mind soon found itself in the dream world, but even there she was unable to gain the peace she so desperately sought.


	3. Number seventeen

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 3: Number Seventeen

The phone rang, its voice calling out to the sleeping form of the man nestled in the black comforter and red silk sheets.

A groan was the only response.

A steady hand emerged from beneath the covers, searching for the cause of the noise on the nightstand. It hit the lamp, knocked over books, CD's, and finally felt the cold plastic of the phone. Grabbing it, the hand disappeared beneath the covers along with the noise maker.

"What?" screamed Erik into the phone. He had overdone it last night. The throbbing pain in his head was confirming it.

"Don't you raise your voice at me, Erik."

Giry. The aged woman ran the agency that provided his housekeepers. Every time one quit on him, he received a phone call the next morning by Antoinette Giry. He met her during his recovery at the hospital after the accident. Every morning, before she went to visit her mother, who lay on a bed in the adjacent room, she walked in his hospital room armed with sweet words and encouragements. It was hard to believe that that same women was now blaring at him from the other line.

"This is the last one. Do you hear me? You have terrorizes every single one of my employees."

"Yeah, ok," he said as he hit the black End button on his phone. She had been saying that for months now. Truth was she could not afford to take him off her clientele list.

Closing his eyes, Erik tried to get back to sleep. He planed on spending the rest of the day in his bed, shutting out the world completely. No visits from his investors. No phone calls. No music either. All he wanted was to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But, as always, life never allowed him any simple pleasures.

There was a buzz that echoed in the empty house. Someone was at the door. He ignored it, keeping his eyes shut. Another buzz sounded, yet Erik did not even think about moving from his spot on the bed.  
Fifteen minutes must have gone by. His body was gently entering the gates of the unconscious world. He welcomed the darkness with wide open arms. Just as his brain was shutting down, a voice brought him back to the world of the living.

"Sir?" said the voice of a young woman, who stood at his bedroom door.

"Who the hell are you?" roared Erik as he jumped into a sitting position. He began pushing aside his sheets and comforter, but got tangled along the way.

"I'm Christine. Mrs. Giry sent me."

The image of the man fighting with the bedding was making it incredibly hard for her to keep a straight face.

"How in hell did you get in here?"

Erik had finally gotten out of the prison of silk. He had not bothered changing last night, and was still wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and button down black shit. Winkles graced every square inch of his clothing and his raven hair hung loosely, covering part of his white mask.

"Security let me in."

"Those worthless, brainless pigs," he hissed.

The world was spinning. Erik was sure of it. His hand rose to his head, resting it against his forehead. He gently massaged his forehead, hoping to release some of the pain that was trapped within his skull. But no luck.

"Are you alright?" asked a concerned Christine, who was still standing by the door, waiting for Erik's instructions.

His golden eyes rose in anger as his temper kicked in. Erik was ready to unleash his wrath on the girl who had disturbed his peace, who had ruined his plan for the day.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

Her sweet violet eyes and those soft curls that framed her delicate face distracted him, made him forget what he was angry about. It even seemed to make his headache disappear.

Christine did not know what to do. The man looked in pain, and now was non responsive. Mrs. Giry had warned her about her new employer. She had prepared herself for the screams and the tantrums Giry had described, but not this. The man was just standing there, staring and rubbing his forehead.

"Sir?"

The melodic voice of his new housekeeper brought him out of the trance. Erik shut his eyes as his headache returned with full force.

"Coffee. Now."

With that said he collapsed back on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands.

Christine did not respond. She had no idea where the kitchen was, not to mention where the utensils were located in the kitchen. She wanted to ask him, but was afraid of how he might respond. So she left, and began walking though the grand apartment searching for the kitchen.

It truly was a magnificent place. The bright light of the sun shinned in through large floor to ceiling windows. The white walls were covered in countless, breathtaking paintings. Even the furniture that adored each room looked like priceless pieces of art. Christine had worked for various rich employers, but none had such dramatic homes.

As beautiful as everything was, Christine was so lost. She felt like one of those mice in a maze, trying to find the scrap of food left in the end by the scientists. She was sure she had been going in circles. She had been able to find his room by luck, but it seems it had run out quite quickly.

"I thought I told you to get me coffee?"

The threatening voice came from behind her. She jumped at the sound of it. How could a man of his size walk without making a noise? Facing him, her eyes slowly rose to meet his. The man was tall, towering over her. His golden globes shinned with a brilliant fire that sent shivers down her spine.

"I was―am."

Erik did not say anything. He could feel the fear in her voice. Who would not be afraid of a monster in a mask?

"I was looking for the kitchen," she whispered.

His hand rose and pointed to double white glass doors decorated with slashes of red to her right. She had passed by them at least three times. She thought they were art pieces. Blushing in embarrassment she opened the doors and walked into the most beautiful kitchen she had laid eyes on.

Stainless steel appliances were placed in-between black counters with dark stone tops. In the center of the room was an island with two black leather stools on one side. Red objects were scattered through out the kitchen, one of them being a delicate glass bowl filled with luscious fresh fruit. Even the floor was incredible: lined with a dark tile with veins.

It was flawless. It was breathtaking. And huge.

Why did he need such a large apartment? From what she had been told, Erik did not get along with others, so she assumed he did not have many friends, nor did he entertain much. _All this for one person_, she thought to herself as she walked around the room, trying to figure out where everything was.

Twenty minutes later Christine had managed to find the coffee maker and a mug, but that was the extent of it. She had opened every drawer and cabinet, yet the coffee was no where to be found.

Opening another cabinet, a bit too quickly, ended with the thundering noise of baking pans hitting the floor.

Erik had walked in just in time to witness her little accident. His hand rose to his forehead as the sound of the pans echoed in his head. Groaning in pain he sat in one of the stools at the island, waiting for the headache to decrease in strength.

"Thank you for that," he spat at Christine, who was on the floor, picking up the metallic cookware.

"I'm sorry."

She jumped on her feet, forgetting she was holding one of the dishes, and dropped it on the floor. The noise was met by another groan from her new employer. The wrinkles on his smooth forehead deepened, resembling small dry streams.

"All I asked for was coffee," he hissed. "Is that really so hard to make?" Opening his eyes once again, he watched as the color drained from his new housekeeper's face. "What sort of maid are you, anyway?"

Christine stared at the man in front of her as her hands slowly balled up into fists. A voice within her screamed in desperation, telling her to defend herself, to open her mouth and let her anger be heard by this revolting man. Instead, she held her tongue. She needed this job. She needed the paycheck.

"Where is the coffee, sir?" Her voice was but an inch above a whisper.

She was holding back. Erik knew it. He could see the inner struggle in her eyes, practically hearing the voice that was tormenting her. _How very interesting_, he mused.

His hand rose and he pointed to a black square contained that was a few feet away from the coffee maker.

Erik rose from his seat.

"Bring it up to my office on the second floor."

As he walked to the door, he turned to look at her once more. "It's the only room up there; I doubt you'll get lost trying to find it." He turned around and exited the room, leaving a fuming Christine behind.

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Erik sat at his desk, reclining on the leather computer chair. He had changed into black trousers and another black button-down shirt. His head was still spinning.

The phone began to ring, sending more shocks of pain to his brain.

"What?"

"Good morning to you too, Erik."

"I am not in the mood, Nadir. What do you want?"

Nadir: the only man Erik had ever trusted. They had met during a trip Erik had made years ago to Persia. He followed him back to the States and became his assistant. That was before the accident, before his face turned to that of a living corpse. Nadir was the only person from Erik's past who did not desert him after seeing the monster that lay beneath the mask.

"Calmen Inc. folded. I just need your signature to make the deal final."

"Fax it over."

"I'm on it."

As he hung up the phone, Christine entered his office with a clear, red, glass tray in her hands. The steam from the hot coffee inside a porcelain black mug gently rose, mixing with the chilled air of the office. Erik watched as she strode toward him in confidence he had never seen in any of his housekeepers. Her long mahogany curls swayed from side to side with each step she took. She never broke eye contact with him.

_The girl has guts_, he told himself.

Resting the tray on his black wooden desk, she placed a fake smile on her face, desperately trying to hide the anger that lurked within.

"Anything else I can get for you, sir?"

For a split second, Erik lost himself once again in her gorgeous eyes. Only now, they were not the eyes of a sweet, innocent, calm girl. No. He could see the fire in them, the anger she was feeling.

It was refreshing to witness an emotion other than fear directed at him. Maybe this one would stick around for longer than a few weeks.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked as he picked up the cup, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Christine.'

"Does Christine have a last name?"

"DeMarco."

"Well, Ms. DeMarco," he said as he leaned back on his chair, "there is a schedule located downstairs in the kitchen, which I am sure you did not notice. Everything you need to do is listed there in plain English. I do not like to be interrupted, so do not bother me with any questions regarding your duties."

Christine did not say anything. She wanted to. God how much she wanted to give this arrogant man a piece of her mind, to tell him how unnecessarily rude he was being, and that money did not give him the right to treat anyone with disrespect.

Lost in her thoughts, Christine failed to see the frown that had appeared on Erik's face as he waited for her to leave.

"Are you almost done staring at me, Ms. DeMarco?"

Christine blinked twice before she excused herself and left his office.

Usually Erik burst into rage when people stared at him, at the white curse that had forever made him a social outcast. But Christine had not been looking at his mask.

No.

Instead she looked directly into his eyes, as if she were trying to communicate with him. She had yet to even acknowledge the presence of the mask.

Yes, Erik truly hoped that this one would stick around.


	4. A glimpse of his wrath

**I just wanted to thank everyone who has been reviewing. It really means a lot to me. **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 4: A glimpse of his wrath

Sliding the white plastic card through the metallic slot, Christine heard the light click of the lock. The image that greeted her would never cease to amaze her. She truly felt the apartment as a whole belonged in an art gallery.

"You're late," said Erik in his fearsome voice as he walked down the stairs.

"I'm sorry, sir. I had some problems with the car and―"

"Stop making excuses and go get me coffee."

He handed her a large black mug, its porcelain surface still warm from the coffee it had held not too long ago. A small pool of black liquid still remained at the bottom.

Turning around, Christine disappeared in the hallway. Erik, on the other, could not move. There was something about this woman that he found particularly intriguing.

It was not her flawless beauty. Erik had been around gorgeous women ever since he made his first million at the age of nineteen. It was not her perfect physique, complete with luscious curves that would make any man forget his name at the sight of her.

No.

It was that look she gave him whenever they spoke, the way she did not tremble in fear at the sight of him like everyone else did.

Shaking his head, Erik turned around and walked back up the winding stairs. With each step he scolded himself for even thinking about the woman. She was but another housekeeper.

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Christine walked to the kitchen, kicking herself for arriving later, and it was only her third day working for Mr. Rousseau. Mrs. Giry had not been overemphasizing the fact that the man did not tolerate tardiness. Christine had only been ten minutes late, and was met by his obvious disapproval.

But then again, Mr. Rousseau was always frowning, or rather looked like he was. He seemed mad, angry at everything and everyone. Not to mention rude.

It did not matter. She was grateful that the man had yet to lose his temper around her. That particular characteristic of his had haunted her the first day she stepped though the front door. She had braised herself, expecting him to unleash whatever rage he had within him upon her.

Instead he went about his day looking at her with those hypnotic golden eyes that seemed to change in density with the change of his mood. It was through his eyes that anyone would be able to know how he was doing for he did not speak much. In fact, the only words that ever seemed to escape his lips reeked of insult.

With the coffee mug in her hand, Christine turned around and began heading toward Erik's office.

As he had been doing for the past two days, Erik was sitting at his desk, his hands running across the keyboard. Christine placed the mug in front of him, not saying a word.

She turned around and walked away. Erik's eyes left the screen of his laptop, and watched as the figure of the woman disappeared below.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked himself as he forced his brain to focus on the task at hand.

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The sound of the ringing phone echoed in the hallways, bouncing off the walls. Erik always picked up the phone, so Christine was not sure if the man would approve of her answering.

Five rings later, Christine found herself unable to tolerate the noise any longer and picked up the cordless phone in the kitchen.

"Mr. Rousseau's residence," she answered.

"Yes, hello. Could you please give the phone to Erik?"

The man on the other line was definitely not American born. A light, sweet accent made its way into every word that he spoke.

"Who is this?"

"Nadir Khan, but don't tell him that."

Christine frowned. _Who was this man?_

"I am not here." Erik walked in the kitchen with his black mug, searching for more coffee.

"I can hear you, you idiot," said the man on the phone, his voice suddenly growing in strength to meet Erik's.

Christine was trapped in what appeared to be an argument between the two men.

"Tell that insufferable fool that I am not putting my signature on that piece of paper until it is altered."

Repeating the statement was quite pointless, given that Erik was shouting loud enough for the man on the other line to hear him, and vice versa. All Christine was doing was holding the phone up in the air as she watched her employer's eyes light with rage.

"Just set up a God damn meeting for Monday morning. I'll take care of this myself."

"Erik I don't think―"

"That's right! You don't think!" His thunderous voice made the foundation of the skyscraper shake. "Now go make yourself useful and set up the meeting."

Taking the phone from Christine's grasp, Erik hung up on Nadir and threw the black object on the counter.

"If he calls again, hang up. Got it?"

Christine merely nodded, unable to create a coherent word.

Before Erik could leave, the black phone began to ring once again. In a maddening pace, he walked to where the phone lay and picked it up.

"Erik, listen to me," begged the man from the other side.

"I am NOT going to sacrifice 2.6 million dollars because you think that those idiots at Calmen Inc deserve to be paid more. If they have a problem with the salary then they should quit."

He had turned red. Christine did not think he had taken a single breath of air while he screamed into the receiver. His lungs must have been aching from the lack of precious oxygen.

"End of discussion!"

"But―"

"One more word, Nadir, and not even God will be able to help you!"

Shutting the phone off once again, he threw it this time across the room. The black plastic covering shattered, sending bits of it flying in the air. The colorful cords hung out of the phone, spilling onto the tiled floor.

His hand rose, running through his straight raven hair. After one deep breath, Erik turned around, storming out of the kitchen.

Christine was in shock. She had been a witness to many arguments, had grown up around short tempered men. But Erik was in a category all of his own. It was not the strength of his voice that had scared her. It was that animalistic look that overtook every inch of his face as he unleashed his wrath and the inferno that was housed in each pool of amber.

He was not frightening. No. He was terrifying.

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It had taken Christine several minutes to recuperate from the incident earlier that morning. Erik had stormed up to his office, and had not spoken to her since.

It was now noon, and as Christine emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray with Erik's lunch she was greeted by the man her employer had been arguing with earlier that morning. He was the same age as Erik, and his clothing choice resembled erik's as well. Though he was well built, he did not have that intimidating aura that surrounded Erik.

"You must be Erik's new housekeeper," he said with a tender smile.

Christine merely nodded. A pang of fear began to grow at the bit of her stomach. She was sure that there was to be a repeat of the morning's escapade. Only now that the foreigner was in the apartment, flesh and blood, the intensity of the argument would most certainly result in the shattering of every window in the building.

"I am truly sorry you had to witness that conversation earlier today."

Conversation? A conversation occurred when people spoke to each other in a calm, civilized manner. What had happened between them was more of a battle to see who could make their voices heard first by the people in the lobby, 63 floors below.

"Khan, if you have not set up that meeting yet, I suggest you leave before I skin you alive."

Erik strode down the stairs. He watched his assistant through a veil of rage.

"9 o'clock, Monday morning," the man said dryly, defeated. "Just so you know, the people you are refusing to give the raises to have families to support."

"I'm sorry, did I give you the impression that I gave a fuck?"

Christine flinched at the vulgar language Erik was using.

"My mistake. I forgot that your heart is encased in ice," said Nadir with a fake, over the top smile. "Now, if you will excuse me I have to go tell hundreds of people that no one cares if their families starve."

The front door slammed as the Persian made his exit. Christine remained motionless, starring at the empty spot where Nadir had been just minutes ago.

"Ms. DeMarco, are you expecting the sandwich to grow legs and walk up to my office?"

Christine turned around, immediately walking past Erik and up the winding stairs, but not before her eyes caught his, silently challenging him. He could not help but smirk as he watched her walk up the stairs.

_She's amazing_, he though just before he mentally kicked himself for having such thoughts about the girl yet again.


	5. An early ending

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 5: An Early Ending

Armed with a bucket of cleaning products, Christine set out to complete every task printed on the crisp white piece of paper. This was the beginning of the second week at Mr. Rousseau's residence, and she had quickly learned that the less she talked to the man, the easier it would be for her to get through her work days.

How could a man be capable of finding faults in everything that she did? Nothing was ever clean enough. No food was ever cooked just right. And the coffee, the forsaken caffeinated black drink, was pushing her over the edge into the realm of pure insanity. The previous day he had forced her to remake it four times. Each time he found a different issue with it. By the fourth cup Christine had been ready to pour the hot liquid down his pants, not caring if he turned on her and unleashed his wrath like he had with Nadir.

Oddly enough, even after that early morning display of emotions, Christine was far from afraid of her new employer. Yes, he was terrifying. Yes, he could crush her skull with one hand without putting much effort into it. So why was it that every time she saw him, those fears never surfaced? Maybe all the pent up anger that was slowly building up at the pit of her stomach was overwhelming her fears.

Fortunately he was not in the apartment today, at least not for a few hours. After his argument, Nadir had set up the meeting Erik had demanded. He had left early in the morning, before she had arrived.

Christine did not care. As long as he was gone, she was happy.

As she walked down one of the hallways, she stopped in front of the only room she had yet to step foot in. She had been told to stay out of it, that she had no business going in.

Erik shut himself inside that room for hours at a time. As much as she hated the man, she felt sorry for him. After all, he was alone.

The entire week she had worked for him, with the exception of that one visit from Nadir, not one soul came knocking at his door. The phone rang a few times, but the conversations were always short and regarding business.

Christine wondered if he even had any family. There were no framed photos to be found in his apartment, no evidence of a past. Maybe that is why he was so bitter. Loneliness can break even the strongest of people.

Her fingers ached to reach out and twist the metallic door knob. Her curiosity was beginning to overpower the voice that was telling her to walk away. Closing her eyes for a few seconds, Christine turned around knowing that the last thing she needed was to lose yet another job do to giving in to her curiosity.

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The black Aston Martin DB9 spoke back to its owner with a low beep, telling him that it was safely locked. Erik walked away from it, briefcase in hand, heading up to his apartment.

His elegant fingers ran up to the knot of the tie, pulling it until it came undone. His hand wrapped around his throat, and gently traveled to the back of his neck. Closing his amber eyes, he took in a deep breath.

It was over. After hours of negotiations he had been able to get his way. He was tired, drained of every ounce of energy, but he was doing what he loved: pushing people to their limits. He loved to watch them squirm as he spoke, backing them into a corner till they begged for mercy.

Yes, Erik loved his job.

He loved making the lives of others just as miserable as his.

Within seconds the elevator brought him up to his floor. Opening the door to his apartment, Erik was greeted by the intoxicating smell of whatever Christine had been cooking. He closed his eyes, for just a few seconds, inhaling the aromatic air around him. As he did, flashes of his past emerged in the darkness.

A short red head smiled at him as she carried to the table a large roasted turkey surrounded by an assortment of steaming vegetables. She leaned in and placed a soft, passionate kiss on his lips, just before she disappeared.

Shrugging of the memory, Erik moved forward, suddenly no longer hungry. The sweet perfume of the meal was beginning to make him ill.

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Every book in the mile long library had been free of dust by the time the clock struck 2:30. Christine had spent all morning and part of the afternoon in Erik's library with a dry cloth, wiping away the dust buildup on the leather coverings of over a thousand books.

She wondered if Mr. Rousseau had actually read all of these books. He definitely seemed like the type. Many of her previous employers had equally magnificent collections, but through their limited vocabulary one immediately new that they had never opened any of them.

The rest of the afternoon she had spend in the kitchen, determined to make a meal her employer would not complain about. So she sat out to make fillet mignon in a creamy peppercorn brandy sauce, sautéed mushrooms and stemmed asparagus.

And now, hours later, she looked down at her masterpiece with pride. Christine had never enjoyed cooking. However, Mr. Rousseau's constant negative critique was one of many of the things he did that was driving her insane. Christine wanted to leave him speechless for once.

As she placed a cover over her creation, the front door slammed closed, announcing Mr. Rousseau's arrival.

Walking out of the kitchen, she caught Erik in the hallway, taking of his black tailored jacket. He seemed…angry. His forehead was lined with wrinkles caused by a fierce frown, and his eyes were burning with flames that only the deepest circle of hell could match. She guessed whatever he had been doing all day had not ended well.

"Good evening, Mr. Rousseau." Her greeting was met by silence. It always was. The question was why she kept saying them. "You dinner is ready, sir. Would you like me to bring it up to your office?"

Christine was so excited to present him the perfect meal that she could hardly keep herself still. She could not wait to see how he would react.

"No." His voice was sharp and so cold. "I am not hungry."

Christine watched as he walked away, up the stairs and vanished in his office.

She was ready to burst. The blood in her veins was running at such a temperature that she was sure it was going to burn right through her skin. Hours of cooking, of making sure that every mushroom was cooked to perfection, had all been wasted.

_Why do I even bother_, she asked herself as she marched back into the kitchen to clean up and throw out what she had cooked. Erik never ate leftovers. There was no point in putting it in the refrigerator.

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Erik sat behind his desk. His fingers glided through the keyboard as he worked on yet another contract. The papers were not needed till the end of the month, but he needed to keep busy, to keep the memories of the past where they belonged.

It was not working.

The image of the red head smiling, laughing, as her warm brown eyes watched him was so vivid. He could even hear her sweet voice calling him to join her.

Erik's palms rose to cover his face, gently rubbing his eyes. The beautiful face of the woman had been plaguing him for the past ten years, entering his dreams and making him remember a time when life was not this difficult.

He rose from his seat, knowing that he could no longer concentrate on the task at hand. There was only one known solution, and he went downstairs searching for it.

Remembering that he had used up all the ice last night at the bar, Erik turned on his tracks, heading for the kitchen to restock.

From outside, he could hear the muffled voice of his housekeeper. He could not make out what she was saying. It sounded like she was mumbling to herself.

"You are being ridiculous, Christine," were the words he heard as he walked through the glass door.

Christine was bent over the stove, vigorously scrubbing the metallic top with a soaped up yellow sponge. She continued to mumble incoherent words to herself, not noticing that Erik had entered the kitchen. She sounded mad.

"You will not get those stains off with that sponge," he said as he turned to retrieve the bag of ice from the freezer.

Christine stopped for a second, realizing that the man was behind her, then returned to cleaning the stove top, ignoring his comment.

"Are you deaf? I told you that you won't get it clean with that."

Without thinking, Christine flung the sponge toward him. It cut through the air landing on the back of Erik's head. His fingers rose, touching the now damp black hair. Turning around, he looked down at the yellow object that stood a few inches away from him.

She had hit him.

The mere shock of having someone actually try to physically hurt him rendered him speechless. Slowly his eyes rose to meet those of his attacker. They were closed, hidden behind lids. Her hand had risen to cover her mouth, as she herself could not believe what had just happened.

"Is there something you wish to say, Ms. DeMarco?"

Christine merely shook her head from side to side.

"Do not start anything with me. I assure you that you will not be happy with the outcome," he threatened. "I suggest you get back to work, I am not paying you to stand there looking like a statue."

Christine's eyes snapped open. The bastard had pushed his luck with her. She no longer cared if she got fired. Her self control had run out.

"Are you rude to everyone, or is it just the hired help that bring out that side of you?"

Erik stopped in his tracks. Had she just talked back to him? He turned around, facing the 5ft 2" woman who was looking at him with defiance, aggravation. She looked like a tigress ready to pounce on her pray.

"What did you say?"

"You heard exactly what I said," she spat back, unable to contain herself anymore.

"If you think that pointing out my beastly manners will cause some sort of change in my attitude, then you are sorely mistaken."

"At least you know that you are being an ass."

"An ass?" Erik laughed in her face at the term she used. It only led to the fueling of her raging anger. His laughter soon died out, replaced by a stern look that matched the coldness of his mask.

"Perhaps you should have placed more effort into your schooling, and maybe you would not have ended up serving an 'ass,'" he said, viciously.

He turned his back to her. Christine's anger had washed away, or rather covered by a new growing ache in her heart. Her education had always been important to her. No one else had seen it as such, not her mother, father or foster parents.

When he heard no reply by the woman, Erik slowly turned around, to find her head hung slightly low, her eyes no longer raised to meet his.

"Not everyone had the luxury of attending school," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The salty liquid was beginning to form at the corner of her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to allow him to see her tears.

Without saying anything, she walked out of the kitchen, running to retrieve her belongings and get herself as far away from this man as possible.

Erik remained in the kitchen, starring at the spot that had been occupied by Christine. He had heard her sniffles, and seen her tear glossed eyes reflect overwhelming pain that he had only seen in one other person: himself.

Insults came easy to him. All his previous employees had been subjected to his sharp tongue. Many had resorted to tears. But seeing her cry jolted a foreign feeling.

_Why do you care?_ He screamed at himself as his hand rose to run through his hair.

Slamming the freezer door shut, he walked back to his bar with the ice. He expected to receive another phone call from Giry early the next morning. For some odd reason, the thought gave rise to a pang of sadness.

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When she reached her scrap of metal on four wheels, Christine broke down. The tears flooded her eyes, blurring her vision. She should have been furious with him, with Erik, but she could not bring herself to.

Going to college had always been her dream. But she had learned that for people like herself, dreams never enter the realm of reality.

Fairytale endings did not come to those with a good nature and hard working ways. No. They were bought. And those who could not afford them lived the rest of their lives watching those who could and continued to dream of a better life until the day they were shut inside a wooden box and buried six feet under.

Reaching inside her jacket, she searched for the keys. They came up empty. The only thing in them was the key card she used to enter Erik's apartment.

"No. No. No."

She searched frantically for the metallic objects, determined to find them, even though she already knew where they were resting.

Walking back to her apartment was pure lunacy. She was not going to walk alone for an hour at night in the city. And a cab would be far too expensive.

There was only one choice.

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Erik was sitting at the foot of the stairs, starring at the crystal glass that rested between his hands. The liquid had been drained. He watched the large ice cubes, stained with gold, slowly melt.

He was about to get himself up, when he heard the lock of his front door click open. The door knob turned, and the wooden door began to timidly open. Erik watched as Christine made her way inside, like a small mouse trying not be caught by the cat.

At the sight of her red, swollen eyes Erik felt sick. He had caused that. He was the reason for her pain. She looked so sweet, so innocent, and beautiful even with the streaks of dried tears that were still visible on her now pale cheeks.

_Why is she here?_

Rising from his seat he met her with challenging eyes. Seeing him, standing a few feet away from her made her head spin.

"I forgot my keys," she whispered. Her voice still trembled from the aftershocks of her tears.

Erik said nothing. What could he say?

Christine tiptoed into the living room, and picked up her keys from the side table. She needed to get out. Now.

Opening the front door, she was but minutes away from exiting this nightmare.

"Christine," he called out from his spot on the stairs. "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him in disbelief. She did not know what was stranger, hearing him apologize or the fact that he had called her by her first name.

"The last thing I want is your pity," she spat at him with the same coldness he had shown her. The door closed behind her, locks clicking into place.


	6. Back

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 6: Back

Erik spent the night wide awake, looking up at the white ceiling of his bedroom as he lay above the silk bedding. He could still see her tears and the pain that had glossed those fiery violet eyes he admired.

Admired? Did he admire them?

They were magnificent, breathtaking. And they belonged to an equally magnificent woman.

_Stop!_ _Don't go there,_ he ordered himself. _You don't even know her!_

He shifted on his bed, trying to push Christine out of his head. It was a task that proved to be impossible. His golden colored remedy had been of no help to him tonight. The woman had crept under his skin, and refused to release him.

_Maybe I don't want her to release me._

He groaned in aggravation and confusion. She had only worked for him for a week, and he had already been reduced to a…a…fool. A confused fool.

Her leaving was for the best. Wasn't it?

His hands rose to cover his face as another groan escaped his lips.

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Christine had collapsed on the bed the minute her foot touched the inside of her apartment. She had been exhausted. The tears she had shed had drained her of every ounce of energy that her body had possessed. The salty drops did not just hold in them a shattered dream, but all the bits and pieces that had been thrown at her since birth, creating an obstacle course she had never been able to get through.

It was noon now, the clock in the living room was singing in excitement. She was still in bed, awaiting that dreaded phone call from Mrs. Giry. Erik had been her fourth employer and Mrs. Giry had not been particularly happy with that fact.

_Why did I open my mouth!_

Her hands rose to cover her eyes. When she was a child she used to believe that if she was unable to see when holding her eyes closed, that there truly was nothing there. If only that were true. If only the world around her were to disappear when her eyes shut.

A demanding knock came from her front door. _Raoul_, she thought. He was most likely back from his business trip early. There used to be days when Christine could not stand to be away from him, to have him leave her side. But now…at times…she awaited his business trips, at times even hoping they would last longer.

Christine hated herself for thinking that way about him, her fiancé. He was such a sweet, caring, perfect man. Maybe that was the problem. He was always…perfect. He never raised his voice, always smiled and was always such a gentleman. The only fight Christine could remember having with him was over a year ago and it could barely be categorized as one since Raoul solved the problem with calmness and understanding in a matter of minutes.

Putting on a long white robe that hung an inch above the floor, she strode to the door and opened it. The man who stood in the hallway was the last person she thought she would see again.

Erik.

His arms were crossed at his chest, as he impatiently waited for Christine to answer the door. And even though he seemed angry, at the sight of Christine, his eyes softened.

"Do you own some sort of time telling mechanism?" he asked. "It's noon. It's one thing to be five minutes late and another to be three full hours."

She could not bring herself to say anything. He expected her to return to work after what had happened the previous night? Was this some kind of joke he was playing that only he would find funny?

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"Have you any idea of how ludicrous it is to have to drive for nearly an hour to find my maid?"

The confusion Erik had seen in her eyes, when she first opened the door was soon replaced by that fire he so desperately sought.

"No one forced you to come down here."

"If you had reported to your job on time, I would not have had to leave my home and come looking for you in this…place!" His voice had risen, traveling through the empty, crumbling hallways of the four story building.

"You have lost it. What am I saying?" she asked with a dry laugh, "You never had it to begin with."

"My sanity is not up for assessment. You punctuality, on the other hand—"

"Leave! Leave before I—"

"I would watch what I said. You still work for me, Ms. DeMarco." A smirk made an appearance on his lips. "I have not fired you, and you have not resigned. Therefore, you still work for me."

"Fine. I quit," she hissed.

"I would not be so quick as to say that," he suggested. "I hear that you have two official complaints filed under your name." Her face became the color of a blank canvas. "One more would force Giry to permanently remove you from the agency. Correct?" Her head was spinning and her throat had dried up. "I wonder what would happen if I call up Mrs. Giry and inform her of your behavior last night."

Erik was determined to get her back. If that meant black mail, then so be it. He no longer cared. All he wanted was to see her walk in through the doors every morning and gaze upon those angelic, passionate eyes.

"You wouldn't," she managed to say after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

"I do not make empty threats, Ms. DeMarco. If you quit, I will."

Christine looked down at the old wooden floors, allowing her brain to absorb the conversation, to comprehend what Erik had said. This was lunacy, pure madness. Why did he even want her working for him after the way she had spoken to him the previous night? It made no sense. None what so ever. Looking back up at him, she saw him smirk at her, knowing she had no choice.

"I suggest you go get changed."

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They walked down the old, creaking stairs. Christine was behind him, each step she took reeked of hatred, defiance.

Erik loved it.

The DB9 was parked right in front of the entrance. It had caught the attention of two men, who were eyeing it with hunger.

"Touch the car, and I will cut your hands off," he informed them. Christine made no move at the sight of the two. They were bothers, known criminals that roamed the area. Dressed in oversized jeans and long black t-shirts, they looked the part as well, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind about their job description.

With a smile on his face, one of the brothers leaned down, and placed his finger on the hood of the car. The man's blue eyes looked up at Erik, waiting for him to take action.

With an equally defying smile, Erik walked up the man, and before Christine knew what had happened, the man was on the floor, screaming in agony. The other had run off, leaving his brother behind.

Sighing, Erik rolled the man who lay on the ground away from his car so he could get in.

"Do you need instructions on how to open the door?" he said from the rolled down window.

Christine came out of her trance and looked at the emotionless man that sat inside the silver car. The event that had just unfolded before her eyes had not made a single indentation in his behavior. No human would be able to physically hurt someone without showing an ounce of emotion. Maybe he had once been in the military. The strong features of his face and the chiseled muscles that adored his body pointed in that direction.

It could also explain the reason for the mask. _The mask_. Its smooth surface gleamed under the sunlight. It looked so menacing, cruel, and cold. Just like the man who wore it. Maybe it hid an injury he suffered while he had been on duty.

"Christine!" he screamed, loosing his patience.

She walked to the car and sat inside. Just like everything else that he owned, the car was elegant, modern and luxurious. A mix of black leather and sparkling metal surrounded her.

The engine roared to life with the touch of a silver button. It sounded like a raging demon who had been kept on a leash for too long, and wanted to unleash it's furry on the streets of the city. And apparently Erik intended on freeing this beast.

They zoomed through the street; the world seemed but a blur. Every turn he made placed an invisible force next to her, pushing her body toward the door. While trying to regain her balance, her hand landed on something warm, soft. She held on to whatever it was for her dear life.

Erik frowned at the feel of her hand over his. _What is she doing?_ His eyes left the road to look down at the small hand that was holding on to his. Looking up at her, he felt his rigid features begin to melt away, but he would not allow it. He would not show any sign of weakness to this woman.

"Would you mind letting go of my hand, I need to shift gear," he said in that familiar emotionless voice Christine had been exposed to since the day she met him.

She pulled her hand away, but to Erik's surprise she did not flinch at the thought of having touched him or even felt embarrassed about the event. Instead she was looking straight ahead, her eyes screaming in fear.

"Do you need to drive like a maniac?" she asked as she gripped the handle of her door, afraid that if he stopped she would go though the windshield.

Erik pulled on to the other lane, trying to pass a large SUV that he deemed to be driving as slow as a Prius. On the other lane, however, came driving down a monstrous truck, just a few feet away from them. The truck driver sounded his horn as he drove full speed toward them.

"Oh my God!" she screamed as she watched the truck near them. Christine's heart was in her throat. She found her lungs protesting at the thought of taking in more oxygen. Seconds before a collision, Erik sped up and switched lanes back in front of the SUV. She turned to him, studying his face which once again held no emotion.

After an eternity inside the roller coaster being driven by Erik, they finally arrived at the skyscraper that held his apartment. As they stepped off the car, Erik handed the keys off to a young man in a red uniform who drove the car inside the garage beneath the majestic glass building.

Christine regained her voice and was determined to let it be heard.

"What in hell is wrong with you?" she screamed. "You could have gotten us killed, you stupid man!"

She stormed into the lobby, heading toward the golden elevators. Erik was but a footstep away, still Christine did not even acknowledge his presence.

Stepping into the elevator, she felt new words begin to sting the tip of her tongue. Incapable of holding them in, she felt them flow free from her lips.

"Are you so self centered that you forgot you had someone in the car next to you? Why do I even bother asking? Of course you are. You despicable—"

He pounced on her. His muscular hands grabbed her wrists, pressing them on the metal surface of the elevator. His body was pressed intimately against hers, his lips but a millimeter away from hers.

"Your sharp tongue will land you in a lot of trouble with me, Ms. DeMarco."

"As will yours, Mr. Rousseau," she spat back.

He leaned in further, his hot breath tickling the surface of her ear.

"You have no idea of what I am capable of."

The elevator sounded just before the double doors slid within the walls. Erik slowly released her wrists, but did not move away from his spot in front of her. His amber eyes were immersed in a silent battle with her violet pools.

The noise of a man clearing his throat forced him to break eye contact with her. Christine pushed Erik aside as she made her way out of the elevator, giving the man who was waiting for them to exit a dirty look that made the strange take a step back.

_You got her back,_ he told himself as he followed her to his apartment. _Now what?_


	7. True Passion

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 7: True Passion

Christine lay on the bed, starring into the darkness. Raoul lay next to her, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. His hot, calm breaths lightly caressed the back of her neck. He had returned form his business trip, and as always upon his return they would dine at his apartment and make love. He could profess his love to her and she to him and then fall asleep in each-others arms.

It had become a routine, a passionless routine. His kisses no longer ignited that fire in her. His touches no longer send her over the edge into pure ecstasy. Their love making was nothing more than a release, to her at least. She knew that Raoul loved her. Did she love him?

Her eyes traveled to the alarm clock. The bright red numbers were the only source of light in the room. _2:30. _That meant that in six hours and thirty minutes she would have to report to work. Strangely, the idea of seeing Erik again caused a smile to tug at the corners of her lips.

Christine hated the man beyond reason. There was not an ounce of doubt about that. But he was the only person who would engage her in the most ludicrous debates. She had never had someone to fight with, verbally, that is. Talking to him allowed her to release all her emotions, rid her body of bottled up anger and frustration. She had never been able to do that before.

The man was fascinating and incredibly intelligent. Usually she found herself intimidated by people who had a higher level of education, but with Erik it did not matter. Even though she was his housekeeper, he treated her more as an equal. Yes, he ordered her around, but when they spoke, he actually placed into consideration what she thought and then proceeded to prove her wrong. He was so stubborn. But then again, so was she.

_And those eyes_.They were so hypnotic, overflowing with passion she had never witnessed before. She had caught herself starring at those amber eyes. Fortunately, it did not appear that Erik had noticed.

Shifting on the bed slightly, she made herself more comfortable and closed her eyes. _I wonder why he wanted me back. _A week had passed since her return, and that question still remained unanswered. Though she would never confess it, Christine was glad he had forced her to return.

--------------------------------------------

At 7:30 the alarm clock sprang to life. The voice of a man came out of the speaker of the clock. Christine reached over, shutting off the man who was talking about the weather.

"We have to get up, Chrissy,' said the man who lay next to her.

Raoul pulled away from Christine and disappeared inside the bathroom. The sound of water springing free from the showerhead soon followed. There was a time when she would have followed him into the shower and they would passionate love as the water sprayed over their bodies. Now, all she wanted to do was get cleaned up and out of the apartment.

_What is happening to us? What is happening to me? _

Christine snuck into the bathroom of the guest room and took a two minute shower. She did not even allow the hot water to fully wash her body. She just wanted to go. No. She needed to go, to leave Raoul as soon as possible.

She emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. Raoul was in the kitchen making his morning coffee. _Coffee. _The dark liquid reminded her of Erik. He was probably up as well, in the kitchen getting his first cup of coffee.

"Where's you ring?" asked Raoul with a slight frown.

"Oh. At home. I can't really wear jewelry while I work." Christine put on a fake smile to try to pass the lie off as the truth. She could not bring herself to wear that ring. Every time she looked at it she felt slightly ill.

Raoul walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His head rested on her right shoulder as he spoke to her softly: "Once you become my wife, you will never have to worry about working again and you'll be able to wear all the jewelry that you want."

Christine turned to face him. They had never discussed what was going to happened after they were to be married. Christine had no intention of leaving the work force and become a housewife. She knew Raoul was only trying to be kind by saying that, but it made Christine's stomach turn.

"You do not want me to work after we get married?"

"Of course not. I will not have my wife clean the houses of other men."

"What will you have your wife do?"

"Take care of our house, and later our children."

After a gap of utter silence, Christine opened her mouth. For the first time she refused Raoul's decision.

"I don't want to stay at home."

"What?" he asked with a confused smile.

"I want to work, Raoul."

"That is ridiculous, Chrissy," he said as he moved away from her and returned to his cup of coffee, dismissing what she had just said.

Christine felt that familiar build-up of anger at the pit of her stomach. It was the same feeling she got when she spoke with Erik, only this time she would not be able to release it. She had never raised her voice at Raoul. She had never had reason to. Christine needed to exit the apartment before she said something that would end up hurting him.

"I'm going to be late."

"Will I see you tonight?" he asked, not noticing the change in Christine's voice and body language.

"No," she said sharply, "I'll be home late."

With that she retrieved her things from the nearby table and left. It was easy to be angry around Erik. It was easy to unleash that anger around him as well. But with Raoul…it was so different. She did not think he would even be able to handle her if she broke into a fit of rage as she did with Erik.

-----------------------------------------

"You're early," said Erik as he came down from his office with the black mug in hand, as he did every morning. Only this time, Christine found herself starring, gazing upon this dark man who was unlike anyone she had ever encountered.

"Yeah," she said, tearing her eyes away from him. "I just couldn't stay away."

Christine put her things away in the hallway closet before turning around to go and take his mug. Of course he would need a refill by now. She reached for the mug, but found Erik holding on to it as he studied her with a frown.

"You're mad,' he said. "But not with me."

Christine pulled the cup away from his hand, breaking eye contact with him. How was he even able to tell to whom her anger was directed? The man truly scared her sometimes. She turned her back to him, and began heading for the kitchen, but was stopped in her tracks from his next words.

"I am guessing a boyfriend, maybe a fiancé. Definitely not a friend or family." She turned around, her blood drained from her face. This was becoming…well freaky. "I'm right, aren't I?"

The silence was enough of a response for him. He smirked at her before turning around and walking upstairs. Christine was an enigma to him. She had been working for him for nearly three weeks now, and he still did not know much about her, besides the apparent fact that she was quite capable of holding a debate with him, the one thing people had never been able to do.

Christine came up to his office moments later with the fresh cup of coffee. She always left it on the desk and quietly exited, but not this time. She wanted answers.

"How did you know?"

"Which part?" he asked as he looked up at her from the computer.

"All of it."

He reclined on his chair with a smile of pure satisfaction. He had been right. Erik thrived in the feeling of knowing he was right.

"Stop smirking and tell me how you know!" she demanded.

"I knew it was not me because when you are mad at me, you make it your priority to inform me. Since you are not married, a fiancé or boyfriend is the only possible solution."

"How do you know I'm not married?"

"For one thing, you do not have a wedding band." Christine was going to tell him she was not wearing an engagement ring either. Why had he guessed a fiancé? But what he said next erased the question from her mind.

"And I had Antoinette send over your file,' he responded without missing a beat. He did not care if she found out that he had been looking at her background information.

"What?"

"How did you think I found out about the complaints?"

"You had no right.' The background information in her file was not for her employers to see, only the manager of the agency. Of course Erik had gotten his hands on it. It did not contain that much information. He had found it quite useless.

"It was necessary."

"What does my marital status have to do with this job?"

"Christine—"

"No. You listen to me,' she said as her hands rose, swaying in the air as she spoke. "You think you are entitled to everything! You can't always get what you want, Mr. Rousseau!"

A few days ago, when he began calling her by her first name, which he justified as saving time, Christine began calling him by his first as well. Only during their arguments did she begin to call him Rousseau.

"I always, always get what I want, Ms. DeMarco."

"I beg to differ," she said as she leaned in on his desk, challenging him.

His eyebrow rose high on his forehead. He got up, meeting her challenge head on. Erik's eyes were glued upon hers, refusing to break contact. God, she was so gorgeous when she looked like that, so fired up.

Christine felt a slight shiver run down her spine from the way he was looking at her. When he rose from his chair, she straightened herself up, trying to make herself appear taller, more intimidating. Then she watched as he moved from behind the desk, walking toward her. Christine's breath caught in her throat.

Erik came closer, stopping but a breath away from her. His amber eyes scanned her face, landing on her full, pink lips for just a few seconds. He wanted to kiss her. No. He wanted to taste every inch of that mouth of hers, of that intriguing mouth that he could no longer do without.

"Keep your distance," she warned him as she took a step back.

"No," he said as he continued to advance on her until she was trapped between him and the office wall. "Tell me," he whispered in her ear, "What exactly is it that I am not entitled to?" His hot breath was tickling her ear lope, causing sweet electric shocks to spread throughout her body.

Erik's hand rose from his side and began to travel up her thigh. Christine's hand immediately ran to cover the invaliding hand with the objective to stop it from continuing its exploration.

"Well? Tell me?" He closed whatever bit of distance that remained between their bodies.

"Stop," she whimpered as his hand continued to travel higher. She found herself unable to stop him, or rather not wanting to stop him. Her heart was racing, slamming against her ribs like a raging demon. Her blood was on fire, burning hotter then the flames of the sun. Christine closed her eyes, relishing the emotion he was igniting in her.

Erik's wandering hand made its way up her delicate arm and across her shoulder, finally reaching its destination: the smooth surface of her face. When his strong, elegant fingers grasped her chin, Christine opened her eyes. She had never wanted to be kissed as much as she did at that moment.

He moved closer, his lips a mere hair away from hers. Christine could feel his breath against her lips, and was anticipating his kiss.

It never came.

With a smirk, he moved away, leaving her pressed against the wall, burning with desire.

Christine closed her eyes, trying to get her emotions under control. It was a task which proved to be quite hard. It had been ages since someone had made her feel so alive.

By the time she had reopened her eyes, Erik had his back tuned to her and was nearing his desk. Christine watched as he moved further away from her. She felt her fingers ball up into fists. She peeled herself off the wall and began to walk toward the door.

"I despise you," she hissed as she turned around to look at him one last time before she stormed out of the office. But before she could make her exit she felt something captured her arm and spin her around. She felt herself being pulled forward, her chest colliding with solid muscle.

One hand wrapped around her waist as the other wove itself in her luxurious curls. Erik's lips came crashing down on hers, demanding full submission. Christine felt her eyes widen at the feel of his lips, then fluttered shut as she willingly gave into his kiss. She had never felt anything so glorious, so demanding. The emotions Erik had brought out in her just moments ago came back in full force. Her loins were on fire, and she did not wish this exquisite fire to be put out.

Erik parted her lips with his tongue, finally able to sample her mouth. At the feel of his exploring tongue, a moan emitted itself from deep within her throat. The sound of it caused Erik's grip to tighten, pulling her closer to him, needing to feel her body against his.

He had thought that the kiss would have quenched the thirst he had developed for her the last few days, but it only made it stronger. He did not know if he would even be able to pull away. And he had never dreamed that Christine would be kissing him back with such passion, such ferocity. God, he wanted her. He had not realized just how much until that moment.

But he could not show her just how vulnerable he felt around her. So, he pulled away. Erik gazed down upon her passion filled violet eyes, traveling down to her slightly swollen pink lips. All he could hear was her sharp intake of breath and her drumming heart.

"How much do you despise me now?" he asked with a smirk before turning away from her.

Christine would have answered his question, but her mind was still trapped within the world of ecstasy Erik had created. She could still feel his velvety lips on hers, still taste his tongue in her mouth. She felt so…empty once he had pulled back. She allowed her body to calm down and silently left the office.

She could not yell at him, after all she had kissed him back. She had kissed him back and would have continued kissing him if he had not pulled away. God, she had kissed another man. _Raoul._ What had she done? She should have never allowed Erik to kiss her. _You're engaged, Christine!_

Yes. Engaged.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she found herself looking up, starring up at the doors of the office. Her fingers rose to touch her lips. Though she knew it was wrong, at that moment she would have given anything to have him kiss her again.


	8. Desires Unveiled

**Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing. I am glad people are enjoying the story. **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera._

Chapter 8: Desires unveiled

Erik had awoken numerous times that night. Dreams plagued his mind, dreams about a certain dark haired woman with the most breathtaking eyes and sweetest mouth. Ever since that kiss he saw those passion filled violet pools every time he closed his eyes. He could hear her intoxicating, melodic moans echoing in the deserted rooms. Christine was all he could think about. He had found himself touching his lips whenever he thought of her.

And now the woman had entered his dreams. In every dream he envisioned her beneath him, screaming in pure ecstasy as his hands ran down her body, feeling every inch of her soft skin, memorizing each cell that made up her glorious curves. His name was the only coherent word that made its way out of her parted, swollen lips.

Then he would awake. He would find himself short of breath, his skin covered in a shear layer of sweat and his heart racing. He cursed the heavens for not allowing the fantasy to play out, only giving him a glimpse of his desire, teasing him to the brink of insanity.

He was awake for the third time now, and refused to return to sleep. Erik starred up at the ceiling, trying to push the memory away, but instead found himself thinking about where his dark haired beauty was at the moment.

_No doubt with whomever she had been angry with. _

So, Christine had a man. The truth stung. Seeing her in the arms of another made his heart scream in rage. But it most certainly was not going to stop him from sampling her invigorating mouth again. He knew he could not go on for too long without having another taste.

_Would she let me? _

Christine was quite compliant last time. Those pink portals had slid open, allowing full access to his invading tongue. She had even kissed him back, running her own tongue alongside his, entwining it with the invader and moaning in bliss. The mere thought of that kiss caused his arousal to grow.

Erik shut his eyes, taking deep, long breaths. His body was igniting at the mere memory of that kiss. God knows what could happen if he were to kiss her again. He had pulled back last time. He didn't know if he would be able to again.

She had not mentioned the kiss. Christine had spent the rest of the day avoiding him. When he finally did come across her, she acted as if nothing had happened. However, Erik could see the play of emotions in her eyes, the struggle she was facing.

_God, I want her._

--------------------------------------------------------

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Christine watched as the seconds ticked away on the wooden clock. It was well over two in the morning, but sleep did not want to claim her mind, for it had been claimed hours ago by thoughts of Erik, Erik and that kiss.

Raoul had dropped by at nine to inform her that he was leaving: some pressing business concerning his last contract. During the few minutes he had spoken to her, Christine's heart was frantically beating. Guilt stricken, she had been unable to say a word. He had been nothing but kind to her and how had she repay him? By kissing another man.

The kiss, the physical act of it, was not the basis of her guilt. It was merely the tip of the iceberg. It was the fact that she had enjoyed it, that she wished it had not ended, that tormented her. No man had ever kissed her in such a manner or ignited such a feeling in her. And now that she had a taste of passion, she found herself longing for it.

_What are you going to do, Christine?_

She had to work tomorrow, to see him again. There was no avoiding Erik, no avoiding this problem. What was she going to do?

--------------------------------------------------------

A shaky hand hesitantly opened the front door. Christine peeked inside, scanning the main entrance. She did not see him, but his menacing voice carried itself down the stairs. It was followed by a second voice, a gentler voice, which she had no trouble recognizing.

She put her things away and was turning to leave for the kitchen, when she heard footsteps behind her. It was not Erik, for he made no noise when he walked. Christine turned around and saw Erik's assistant.

Nadir came walking down the stairs, shaking his head slowly from side to side. A fierce frown was etched on his face, his forehead reduced to a series of deep wrinkles. However, at the sight of Christine, the frown was replaced by a polite smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Khan," she greeted him with a courteous smile.

"Please, call me Nadir. Only Erik calls me that when he is angry, which is always." A light chuckle escaped his lips. "I'm afraid I do not know your name, my dear."

"Christine. Christine DeMarco."

Nadir leaned forward, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. Christine felt her smile widen, and a light blush appear on her cheeks.

Erik came waltzing down the stairs, stopping at the sight of his assistant and Christine. The man was touching her, his lips were touching her. Seeing Christine smile at Nadir's gesture caused his hands to roll into balls.

"Would you like some coffee, Nadir?" asked Christine.

"No, he would not," responded Erik for him.

Nadir looked up at Erik in confusion. His tone of voice…there was something about it. It was anger but mixed with something else, something he had only heard once before coming from Erik, over twelve years ago. Jealousy.

He felt a soft smile emerge as the realization hit him. Nadir's dark eyes moved to look at Christine, who was still standing in front of him. Erik liked her. He was mad that Nadir had kissed her hand. The same thing had happened twelve years ago when that man had hugged Renee.

_Renee. _The mere name of the woman forced the smile to vanish from his lips. Even after ten years it still painted him to think of her. What hurt him more was the fact that the memory of the woman still ruled Erik's life.

"Excuse me, Christine, I need to go make a phone call."

With Nadir gone, Christine's fears concerning Erik came back. Unable to look at him, she allowed her eyes to fall to the floor. She did not know what to say or how to act around him anymore.

"I need to see you in my office, Christine."

"I have to—"

"It was not a question."

Erik stepped aside, allowing Christine to walk up the stairs before him. As she did, Erik found himself marveling at her body, especially her lean, delicate legs. He could envision them wrapped around him, his hands traveling up at down her thighs.

_Not now,_ he told himself.

In his office, Christine was still unable to face him. She could feel his presence behind her, his eyes on her, as he waited for her to speak. What could she say? With a deep breath, she summoned up all the courage she possessed and spun around.

To her surprise, Erik had been only a few inches away from her. She now stood face to face with her employer. His well toned body was so close that she could feel heat radiate off of it.

The room felt so small now, so confining. Christine was finding it hard to breath. The temperature in the room seemed to have increased as well. She could feel a light layer of perspiration form above her skin.

"About yesterday…" she began as she took a step back, trying to remove herself from the object of her temptation.

"What about yesterday?" he asked with a smirk as he took a step forward.

"You kissed me and…" She took yet another step, only to see Erik move forward again.

"And you kissed me back."

"Well…yes…but…" She took yet another step. This time the back of her legs hit Erik's desk. She had run out of room to escape him.

"But what?"

"I'm…I'm…"

"You're what?" he asked as his hand rose to lightly caress her cheek.

The feel of his soft fingers was making her forget what she was going to say. She felt her eyes flutter closed once again. Her breath was trapped in the confines of her throat causing her head to spin.

_No, Christine! You can't let this happened again!_

She snapped her eyes open and escaped Erik. Catching her breath, she prepared the next words in her head.

"I'm…I'm engaged."

"Good for you," he said with a grin as he moved to sit behind his desk. The news did not seem to faze him at all. "Now," he said after he sat down. "I am in need of a new assistant."

"What?"

"Nadir will be returning to Persia for a few weeks. I need someone to fill in the position temporarily."

"You want me to be your assistant?"

"It is not all that difficult. Most of the job involves you running to my office downtown to drop off and pick up papers, filing, organizing and other small things."

"No, it's not hard, but you make it hell," said the Persian who had just walked through the threshold. He walked to one of the black leather chairs, picking up a few yellow colored folders. "You need to read through these by the end of the week," he informed Erik as he placed the in front of him.

"Did you take care of Chatsworth?"

At the mentioning of the name, Christine's face paled. Erik could not be possibly talking about Raoul. Her Raoul.

"Yes. He returned to Montreal last night. The error will be cleaned up in no time."

Nadir collected more papers, placing them inside a black leather briefcase.

"If he screws up again, he's gone."

"Yes, I know, Erik."

Erik's eyes traveled to the silent woman, who was starring blankly at the floor. She seemed distant, trapped in her thoughts which had carried her to another world. By the frown that had appeared on her face, he guessed whatever world she had gone too was not a pleasant one.

"Christine." His voice brought her back to reality.

"Yes," she answered sharply.

"I need an answer."

"Can I have some time to think about this?"

"No. I need an answer now. It's either you or that brainless secretary from the office."

"Erik," Nadir scolded. "Stop insulting that poor woman."

"Her large paycheck makes up for my rude remarks toward her."

"You know what, Christine," said Nadir as he turned to her. "Decline the offer, and run. Run as fast as you can from this man."

"Don't you have to meet with a client, Khan," he hissed. Erik did not like the fact that his assistant had just told Christine to leave him, to leave him and never return.

"Yes. I'll leave as soon as you procure a replacement."

Erik turned his eyes to Christine. She was not looking at him as she processed the offer he had made. _Interesting. _Erik knew for a fact that all the other women he had worked with would have accepted his offer immediately. After all, who would say no to a promotion? Christine, on the other hand, thought things through, a trait he found quite attractive.

Her violent eyes rose to meet Erik's eyes. Releasing a heavy breath, she gave him an answer: "Yes. I'll do it."

_NO, _screamed the voice in her head. _What are you doing, Christine?! Now you'll have to spend even more time with him!_

"Very well," responded Nadir. He turned to Erik with his finger pointing at the man. "Don't forget you have that meeting tonight, and do not call me three minutes before the meeting to tell me you're not coming, like last time. I will come down here and drag you out by your ear. That's a promise."

Christine chuckled at Nadir's threat. The image of him pulling Erik by his ear emerged in her head. She would gladly pay to see that happen.

With a sweet smile, Nadir turned to Christine, taking her hand and placing another kiss on the smooth skin. His eyes turned slightly to Erik and saw that same look in those amber pools. There was no doubt in Nadir's mind. Erik liked Christine. Maybe she would be able to help Erik finally move on.

"Have a nice day, Christine. I will see you tomorrow"

"See you tomorrow, Nadir."

The Persian walked away, knowing that Erik watched every step that he was taking. With a grin, he shook his head lightly from side to side. This was either the making of a nightmare or dream. He hoped it would be the latter one for after everything he had gone through, Erik deserved some form of happiness.

--------------------------------------------------------

Christine stood over the sink, her hands immersed in the hot, soapy water in the sink. She had been scrubbing the same cup for the past fifteen minutes. Her mind was somewhere else, filled with thoughts of her employer, and the decision she had made not too long ago.

"All that scrubbing will break that cup," said a voice behind her.

Christine whirled around with the cup in hand. The sight of Erik made her forget she had the black object in her hand, and allowed it to slip from her grasp. The porcelain object fell on the floor, shattering to fine pieces.

"Or maybe that will."

"Damn it," she cursed as she bend down to pick up the pieces.

Erik turned his back to her, opening the refrigerator door. She looked up at him in anger, infuriated by his actions. _Would it kill him to help?_ Picking up another sharp piece, she felt her skin cut open. The pain caused her to hiss. The crimson liquid flowed free from its confines, laying a cape over her palm.

Rising, she clutched her wound with her other hand. The cut was deep. The blood was spreading quickly, not to mention the throbbing pain. Before she knew it, another hand touched hers. Looking up she saw Erik, his eyes scanning the wound. They rose, sharply to look into hers, before they dipped once more to assess the full extend of her injury.

"There's no end to your clumsiness, is there?" he asked with a slight smirk.

Christine tried to pull her hand away, but Erik would not let her. Instead, with her hand in his, he guided her out of the kitchen and into one of the bathrooms. His fingers felt so gentle, soft against her skin. The strength she knew they possessed seemed to have vanished beneath the layers of skin and tissue.

"Sit," he ordered her as his hand pulled away from hers. Christine found herself missing the feeling of his hand, the warmth that was emitted from it.

"I can do it myself," she informed him when she saw the first aid kit he produced from one of the cabinets.

"I'm sure you can," he said as a grin made its way to his lips. "Now, sit."

She did not know why, but she obeyed him and sat on the edge of the white tub. Erik sat next to her, retaking hold of her hand.

"You say you're engaged, but I see no ring on your finger," he told her as he began to clean the wound. His eyes were glued upon the angry cut that adored her delicate flesh. He was afraid that if Christine saw into his eyes that whatever he felt for her would be visible, allowing her to see his vulnerability. But he did not need to look up into her eyes to know that his comment had not sat well. Her hand stiffened, as if the mere mentioning of the engagement made her uneasy.

_She doesn't want to marry him,_ he told himself. It made sense. She had been angry at whomever she was engaged to the previous day, did not wear an engagement ring, and clearly did not love him. _No woman in love would have allowed another to kiss her or kiss him back. _

A hiss, a pain filled hiss due to the disinfectant touching the open cut made its way from her lips. Christine tried to pull away, to get her hand away from the liquid that was causing her more pain than the wound itself, but Erik held on, ignoring her attempt to break free.

"Not everyone wears a ring," she spat back.

"Quite right. But there is a slight discoloration around the finger, which means that a ring was once there."

"Why are you looking at my finger?" she asked before scolding herself for voicing such a stupid question.

"I'm cleaning your hand. It's hard not to look at a finger while doing so," he said as his eyes rose to look at hers. The frown that had appeared on her face made him smile for some reason. "You are such a baby," he said before retuning to work on her hand. Taking the white gauze he began to cover the wound.

"It hurts," she yelled back.

"It's just a cut."

"Well, I don't have a very high tolerance for pain."

"And here I was thinking that you had been putting on a show for the last ten minutes."

"Why do you always have to be so…mean?"

Erik finished dressing the cut and looked up at her.

"Why don't you tell your fiancé you don't want to marry him?"

"What?"

He rose from his seat with as smirk. The draining of color from her face confirmed that he had bee right in his assumption. Unlike other times, when he swam in self satisfaction at the idea of being right, this time he felt his heart soar for he knew that Christine did not belong to another.

"I'm afraid acting is not your thing, Ms. DeMarco."

"How dare you?" she screamed as she rose to her feet.

"A bit of a hypocrite aren't you. You say I am cruel when you are the one who has been leading a man on, setting him up for heartbreak."

Her hand rose in the air, flying toward his face, but it never reached its destination. Instead Erik's hand rose, taking a hold of hers and spinning her around so her back hit his chest. His other hand rose to firmly secure Christine in his arms.

"It looks like fighting is not your thing either," he said, his words tickling the soft flesh of her neck. How he longed to place his lips upon her alabaster skin, to feel every inch of her neck and leave behind markings that claimed her as his.

"Let me go," she hissed as she struggled to break free from his iron grip.

"Why?" he whispered. His eyes closed, as the sweet scent of her hair entered his nostrils. The feeling of her body pressed against his was heaven, a thousand times better than he had imagined in his dreams.

"Erik, let me go," she repeated. She could not allow herself to fall into his spell again.

"I did not hear you complain yesterday."

"It was just a kiss."

"If it had been just a kiss, you would not have trembled in my presence this morning," he said with a smirk before pulling away.

Erik left Christine in the bathroom. Her heart was beating frantically against her ribs. She barely knew him, yet he seemed to know everything about her. No one had ever been able to look at her and just know what she was feeling. Christine could walk out the door and never return to him. Yes, she would have to kiss her job at the agency goodbye, but she would have peace of mind. However, the idea of never seeing Erik again made her uneasy.

With an exhausted sigh she sat down on the edge of the tub and looked down at her bandaged hand.

_What are you going to do now? _


	9. Appearances are everything

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera_

Chapter 9: Appearances are everything

_It's Friday,_ she told herself as she rose from the bed. Christine would have a break from dealing with Erik after today, a well-deserved break.

"Morning, Chrissy," said a voice from the opened bedroom door. Raoul stood at the threshold with one of his signature smiles. His pearly white teeth seemed to glow.

"Raoul," she responded, trying to mimic the joy her fiancé was displaying. "When did you get back?"

"Late last night."

Raoul walked to her, stretching out his arms and pulling Christine into his embrace. It was a gentle hug; one a person would share with a friend, a family member, not the man that is supposed to become your husband. And it failed in comparison to Erik's embrace. Christine's thoughts were suddenly overtaken by images of her masked employer. She could envision Erik's strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her body close to his. She could even feel his hot breath sweeping over the skin of her neck.

"I missed you," he whispered in her ear. Raoul's voice brought her back to reality.

"I missed you too," she managed to say, hoping it had sounded sincere.

They pulled apart, and Raoul took her hands in his as he looked into her eyes with such admiration. How could she possibly tell this man, who clearly loved her, that she was having serious doubts about their relationship, soon to be marriage?

"What happened to you hand?" he asked when his eyes caught sight of the white bandage that covered her left palm.

"Nothing serious. Just a cut."

He brought her hand up to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss on the surface of the gauze. Though the gesture was sweet, she found herself holding back a frown. Christine felt like a child as she watched him kiss her hand, like a powerless, submissive, defenseless creature. She hated it.

"I need to get ready for work," she told him as she pulled her hands away from his.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked as she turned to go to the bathroom.

"I" she began, but was cut off by the knock form her front door. She stared at the wooden door for a minute. The only other person who had ever come to her apartment was Erik, and his presence would only lead to complications she could scarcely imagine.

Christine walked to the door, fear making her hands tremble. Turning the metallic fixture, she heard the lock slide out of its cave. She did not know what she was going to do if it was indeed Erik on the other side.

"Good morning, my dear," greeted the Persian.

"Nadir," she said with a sigh of relief. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to pick you up, of course," he said as he moved to walk in the apartment. "We have a full schedule, which includes a full tour of the office downtown."

For a few seconds, Christine was completely befuddled. She had no idea what the man was on about. "Oh," she said out loud as she recalled the job she had accepted the previous day.

"You are not having second thoughts, are you?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, no. None at all."

"Chris"

Raoul came into the hallway, stopping at the sight of Nadir. His eyes widened. His boss' assistant did not seem upset, but rather joyous. Raoul's thoughts immediately turned to a possible promotion. Maybe his boss was impressed by his last few contracts. Raoul did not have to go to work that day, and maybe Nadir had come looking for him to tell him the good news.

"Mr. Chatsworth," said Nadir as he extended his hand, which was immediately met with Raoul's. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, Mr. Khan. May I ask why you are here?"

"I'm here to pick up Christine."

"I don't understand." His smile began to lose its strength.

"She will be replacing me for the next few weeks, while I am away."

Raoul turned to Christine, looking at her beneath confused eyes. A myriad of questions swam through his mind, but none of them made their way to his lips. Why, he did not know.

"That's…great," he said, trying to appear excited for his fiancé. Christine, the woman who had never worked in the corporate world, had been chosen to take one of the most influential positions in the company. Christine, the woman who had not even received a full education, was going to work closely with his boss. An unknown emotion was flaring in him and threatening to overtake his mind and body.

"I'll wait downstairs for you, Christine," said Nadir before making his exit. He had not liked the look that had appeared in Chatsworth's eyes. And what was he doing in Christine's apartment to begin with?

With the Persian gone, Christine felt her heart rate begin to increase. She had not told Raoul about her temporary new job. And the worst part was that he worked for Erik, which meant that she would have to see him every time she went to the office.

"How did you meet Mr. Rousseau?"

"I'm his housekeeper."

"You're my boss' housekeeper." She nodded. "Since when?"

"I started a few weeks ago."

"A few weeks?" Another nod. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know you worked for him," she spat back, unable to contain herself. She had done nothing wrong. Why was he grilling her?

"You can't do this," he told her with what appeared to be a sympathetic smile. "It's a very hard job, Chrissy. I don't think you will be able to handle it."

"That so?" she asked. Her eyes rose to meet his head on. Now he was just pissing her off. It was one thing to treat her like a child, and another to inform her of her own limitations. "You need to leave," she informed him as she opened the front door. "Now."

"Chrissy, I'm only thinking of your well being."

"And I of yours," she said as she waited for him to leave. She did not know what she would have done to him had he not left. _The nerve of that man_. Slamming the door shut, she went to the bedroom to get changed.

--------------------------------------

Christine went outside, and was greeted by a roaring large gray car. The chrome wheels lit as they reflected the bright rays of the sun. There was no doubt in her mind that the car belonged to Nadir.

Unlike Erik's sports car, this one had enough room in the back to host a party. There was also no black leather, but rather soothing, cream-colored upholstery. It fit the personality of the driver, who was looking at her with a smile.

"We need to make a pit stop before we go to the office."

"Alright."

Nadir was glad she had not asked about where they were heading. He was sure that what Erik had planned for her was not going to sit well. Christine had stuck him as an independent woman, and the last thing she would accept was charity from a man she constantly fought with.

A half hour later, Nadir parked the Bentley by what appeared to be a small store. Christine looked out the window, searching for some sort of sign indicating where they were.

"This should not take too long," he said as the car turned off. _I hope._

"Where are we?" she finally asked.

"A store." That is all he said as he got out, but the answer was not enough for Christine. She followed Nadir out of the car, and looked into his eyes, waiting for a better answer. With and exhausted sigh, Nadir unveiled his plans, or rather Erik's plans which he had been ordered to execute.

"The Almighty Erik decided last night, in the middle of negotiations I might add, that your wardrobe was unfit for the office. So he called up this place, made an appointment and ordered me to bring you down here and not allow you to exit the store until you have purchased a set number of attires. His treat, of course."

"He what?" she asked. Her voice was a mix of anger and disbelief as the information was absorbed.

"Please, it will make your life easier if you just complied."

"Complied?'

"If you have not noticed by now, Erik is a stubborn man. You can rant and rage all you want, but he will not change his mind."

"That"

Her words were trapped in her throat as a woman with soft, straight, blond hair came out of the store. She was dressed in a black, knee length skirt that was held on her waist by a thick black belt. A white blouse completed her look.

"You must be Christine," she said with a warm smile. "My name is Megan Giry." Her delicate hand reached forth and was seconds later met by Christine's. She knew this girl, or at least had seen her before. "You're Antoinette's daughter," said Christine.

"Yes, that I am." Turning her attention to the Persian, her smile seemed to widen, "Hello, Nadir. I have not seen you for some time."

"I've been busy," he said as his eyes seemed to avert to the floor.

"I'm sure you have.' Her brown eyes turned back to Christine, "Shall we?"

------------------------------------

Appearances certainly were deceiving. When Christine walked though those doors into the store, she was immersed in a world of glass, bright lights and so much clothing. And the place appeared to be deserted.

Two hours had gone by since her feet had touched the bright white tiles that adored the floor of the store. She had tried on more suits that she cared to remember, more shirts that she had ever worn throughout her life, and more shoes then her feet cared to wear. She was in front of a mirror. Again. Wearing an outfit selected by Meg. Again.

_When is this nightmare going to end?_

While Christine enjoyed shopping on occasion, she hated this. She hated that Erik had her buying new clothes without asking her. She hated that she felt like a charity case. And what she hated most was the fact that Meg showed no signs of stopping.

Nadir was sitting in a chair nearby. His head was resting in his hands as he watched Christine look at herself in the mirror again. She looked ready to burst, and had good reason to as well.

His cell phone began to buzz in his jacket pocket. Looking at the caller I.D. he saw that it was Erik. _Great._

"Yes."

"I can't find the Colman Project report." The sound of riffling papers was clear in the background. Shaking his head slightly, Nadir sighed knowing that he would have to go to his office at home and reorganize everything. Again.

"Check your left top drawer," he suggested. Things always seemed to end up there for some reason.

"Is that Erik?" asked Christine from the pedestal she had been put on. Nadir nodded, a bit afraid of what she might do. "Give me the phone," she ordered.

"I don't think that's a good idea," responded Nadir.

"Give me the"

With a loud thud, Christine fell on the floor. Nadir rose from his seat.

"That was Christine, wasn't it?" asked Erik on the phone as he continued to search for the papers. He had heard a loud noise in the background after Christine had been telling Nadir to hand the phone over. "That girl is such a klutz. Got them," he said as he hung up.

Christine lay on the floor in the white Valentino suit. She rolled over, looking up at the ceiling, not wanting to get up. She extended her hand to Nadir, her fingers stretched out. It was not help she needed, but rather the phone that was in his hand.

"Give me the phone, please."

The authority in her voice reminded him so much of Erik. They were both such stubborn creatures. How they had not killed each-other yet he could not understand.

"Nadir. Phone. Please."

He placed the phone on the palm of her hand and watched as she dialed Erik's phone number. She placed the phone to her ear and waited for Erik to answer.

"Stop complaining. I am busy. Buy the clothes and leave me alone."

The dial tone emerged as Erik hung up. He had not even allowed her to speak. _How had he known it was me, anyway?_ The phone came to life in her hand. It was Erik. Hitting the green send button, she was determined to speak with him this time.

"Give the phone to Nadir," he said.

"How did you know I wasn't Nadir."

"Because knowing you, you'll still be on the floor sulking over the fact that I made you go get new clothes. Now give me Nadir."

"You don't know me," she spat back

"Tell me, when have I been wrong?" No response. "Right. Now give me Nadir. And get up off the floor."

"Who said I'm on the floor?"

"Christine!" screamed the blond woman who had returned with yet more selections of clothing. "What are you doing on the floor, you'll destroy that suite."

The woman's voice carried, and Erik smirked at the fact that he had been right again. He could envision Christine there, lying on the floor, ready to burst. He wished he could be there beside her, to see first hand that fiery demon that she unleashed when she was angry.

The phone was transferred to Nadir, but throughout their conversation about business, all Erik could think about was Christine. He could not wait until she returned from her field trip with Nadir. He hated the fact that she was not in his apartment, not near him.

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"Nadir," said Erik as he typed away on his computer. "You will need to take Christine to get her a new car. I will not have her drive that deathtrap to my office."

"What did you have in mind?" asked the Persian with an exhausted sigh. He had returned with a fuming Christine an hour ago. Erik had investor's over in his office and she had not been able to talk to him.

"No SUVs. Maybe a coupe. Maserati released a stunning new car she might like."

Erik had always been a car enthusiast, and he had deemed the metal box Christine had been driving an insult to the automotive world.

"I doubt she will allow you to purchase that sort of car for her."

"What do you mean?"

Nadir scratched his head. Erik was being thick. He knew about the fight Christine had put up when he ordered her to purchase all those clothes she would have never been able to afford. Now he was talking about buying her a car that cost more then she would make in years.

"You know what, why don't you take her to get a new car?"

Erik chuckled at Nadir's suggestion.

"I'm serious."

"I do not have time for this. Just take the woman and help her pick a car."

"This is not going to end well," said Nadir in frustration as he went to retrieve Christine and find a way to persuade her to let Erik buy yet more things for her. He could already hear her protests. He had been wrong in thinking her as stubborn as Erik. No. She was far worst.

Sure enough, an hour later, Nadir returned, exhaustion written on his face. He slumped on the nearby chair, covering his eyes with his hands.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Erik as he diverted his attention from the computer to his clearly aggravated assistant.

"I took her to the dealership, like you said. I showed her the cars, like you said," a small, sarcastic chuckle escaped his lips, "and then she saw the price tags. It all went downhill from there."

"So she's angry with you."

"Oh, no. Not me. You!" Nadir rose from his seat, gathered all his things from the desk and saluted Erik. "I am going because when she comes in here, World War III will surely break out."

"World War III would be a joy compared to this deep shit I have gotten myself into," said Erik as he read though the reports of his most recent project.

Walking out of the office, Nadir turned around once more, "Don't forget you have that dinner tonight at 7:30." He found himself racing down the stairs when he saw Christine on her way up to see Erik.

"Nadir, where are you going?"

"As far away from you two as possible."

Christine found Erik reclining on his chair, going though papers and marking virtually every line with a black pen. He did not even acknowledge her presence, but kept silent and focused.

"Erik—"

"I don't want to hear it." Erik was already in a dreadful mood. His current project was falling apart and he was losing quite a bit of money. Christine's bickering, which he usually found quite entertaining, was only serving in further irritating him.

"You don't even know—"

"I am getting tired of your complaints, Christine." His eyes finally rose to meet hers in clear aggravation. "What are being given to you are necessities. Once you step through those glass doors at the office, it does not matter who you are, how you speak or level of intelligence. You are placed on a pedestal and are judged and critiqued by every men and woman that works there. You are a reflection of my standards. Anything short of perfect is unacceptable. As long as you are my assistant, you will wear the suites purchased and drive the car that will be given to you. Afterwards, you can burn it all, for all I care." He took a breath. "Is that clear?"

Christine merely nodded, unable to say anything. He roughly pulled the packet of stapled papers from the desk and returned to his work. Her head fell to the floor, not from fear or sadness, but from realization.

That was the reason he rarely went to his office downtown. That was the reason he rarely went outside. Judgment. _The mask_, she though as her eyes rose to look at the man who was busying himself with the stack of papers. _People can be so shallow._

Yes, Erik was a harsh, rude man. Ye, he had a temper. But to fear a man, to create his identity based on that white leather scrap…the idea of such a thing made her sick.

"What in hell are you staring at, woman?" he roared when he realized Christine was looking at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she continued to look at Erik.

"Apologies are merely a mean of elevating guilt. They do nothing for those who have been wronged.'

"Better than nothing."

"You'd be surprised the value 'nothing' has."

Nodding in agreement, Christine turned around and left the office. For the first time since she had begun working for Erik, she felt genuine sympathy for the man.


	10. Drink the night away

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Phantom of the Opera_

Chapter 10: Drink the night away

Something was brushing against his chin, waking him from his slumber. Erik's eyes fluttered open as his hand flew to push away the cause of the disturbance. Before he could do so, he realized that it was soft, mahogany curls that had been tickling his skin. The soft mahogany curls of the woman he had been dreaming about the last few nights.

The blue light from the television cast a gentle glow on the woman that had rested her head on his shoulder. The deep sea colored blanket covered her body, protecting her from the coldness of the night. Soft, melodic breaths made their way from her slightly parted lips.

She looked like an Angel. The sight of Christine, so innocent, so sweet, made a smile, a genuine smile creep on his lips. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her.

Shaking his head slightly, he forced himself to snap out of the trance the sleeping woman had placed him in. He reached for the remote and shut off the TV then placed the gray object on the coffee-table, which was covered in empty crystal glasses of all shapes and sizes. Clusters of salt grains from their Tequila shots and eaten lemon wedges decorated the wooden surface, along with glass bottles. Erik still could not believe just how much the girl had been able to drink.

He shifted her body so he could get up. Christine did not wake, but rather curled into a ball, and pulled on the blanket. A few loose curls sprang forth and rested on her cheek. If someone were to see her in that state, they would never, not for one second, believe that she was a temperate creature.

Erik leaned down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. It was three in the morning, and he did not want her spending the night on an uncomfortable sofa when there was an empty bedroom just down the hall.

His movements caused the sleeping Angel to wake. Her violet eyes looked up at him behind heavy lids. Erik's breath became trapped in the confines of his throat. What would she do when she realized she was being held in his arms? Scenarios began playing in his head, replaying before his eyes like music from a broken record. Never would he have guessed what Christine did next.

She smiled. She smiled at him. Not that sarcastic smile he had witnessed day after day. Not that smirk or grin that followed a witty remark. No. This was a smile, a warm, gentle smile; much like the one she had given Nadir that day as he kissed her hand. She was not angry. She was not protesting. She was smiling and it made his heart flutter, swell with an emotion he had not experienced in ages.

Christine fell back asleep in his arms, pressing her face to his chest. Her hot breath seemed to penetrate though his shirt, grazing the skin that lay beneath. The long, dark curls swayed with every step Erik took, brushing against his arm. She molded to his body, fitting perfectly in his arms.

When the time came to place her on the bed, he found himself pausing, not wanting to relinquish his hold on her. It was hard to believe that the woman he had been fighting with the past few weeks was sleeping in his arms, looking so innocent and sweet. With a heart breaking sigh, he forced himself to place her on the bed, covering her with the blanket that rested on a nearby chair.

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"Is Christine here?" asked a puzzled Nadir as he walked though the front door. Christine's jacket and purse were resting in the opened hallway's closet.

"Yes," was all Erik said as he walked up the stairs with his coffee.

"Why is she here on a Saturday?"

"She spent the night." With that Erik disappeared in his office, leaving behind Nadir, whose jaw had just dropped to the floor. Nadir had known that there was something going on between the two, but he would have never imagined the relationship to escalate to such proportions in such a small time frame. Plus, last time he saw them, Christine had been ready to strangle Erik.

Nadir followed his boss to the office, determined to learn more about whatever had happened the night before. Erik had had a few relationships, so to say, in the past few years. They had always ended up in heartbreak for the women. Erik could have cared less. Suddenly fear sprung in Nadir's heart. Christine was a good person, and he did not want Erik to reduce her to the sobbing mess all his previous "love interests" had turned into.

"What do you mean she spend the night?"

Erik was sitting in his chair, rubbing his temples. Christine had not been the only one who had drowned more drinks then her body could handle.

"What do you think it means, Khan?" he asked aggravated at the noise his assistant was making by talking.

"Erik―"

"She had a fight with her fiancé, who as is turns out is that moron, Chatsworth."

"Oh," said Nadir in realization. "That's why the boy was over at her apartment. I didn't know Christine's engaged." Still confused Nadir continued his questioning. "Why did she come here? To you?"

"The boy had refused to leave her apartment last night, and I guess she had no where else to go."

"Did she say what the fight was about?"

"Khan," Erik snapped, "don't you have some work to do instead of acting like a teenage girl: milking others for information that is none of your business?"

"You don't have to get so defensive," said Nadir with a light chuckle.

"Just get what you came here for and leave. I am in no mood to listen to you today."

"Did you have another one-man-party last night?"

"No, Christine joined me," he said with a sly smile.

"Oh, wonderful. You got another member for your 'Drink till my brain turns to mush' club."

"Khan," he said in that threatening tone which scared clients into agreeing to all his terms during negotiations.

Nadir had always hated the drinking habit Erik had fallen into the past ten years. Almost every morning he would find Erik under the spell of a hangover. And now it seemed he had gotten himself a partner.

"Here's Christine's contract. I need it signed by Wednesday so I can put her on the payroll." Nadir put the papers on the desk. "I'll see you Monday."

Erik waved him away as he leaned back in his chair. The pounding in his head was driving him insane. It felt as if there was a lumberjack in the depths of his skull, swinging away at his brain.

The events of the previous night were in a fog, only bits and pieces of it seemed to remain intact. He reclined on his chair as his brain sought to glue the bits together and form an intact memory of the event to store away.

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_Last night…_

It was nearly midnight when the door to Erik's apartment opened. He had been in the living room, flipping though the channels, trying to forget the dinner he had been forced to attend, and the brainless gorillas that he had been forced to share a table with.

Christine had peeked inside; her eyes appeared to be slightly swollen. His brow frowned at the sight of the woman. He watched her as she entered the apartment and scanned the hallway. When her eyes finally caught sight of him, she tried, to no success, to smile.

"What are you doing here?" asked Erik coldly.

"I…I was wondering if I could stay here tonight."

He knew she was upset, and as curious as he was about the reason for her sadness, he chose not to push it. Instead he turned away from her and returned to watching TV.

"You want a drink?" he asked with the remote in hand, eyes glued to the screen. She looked like she was desperate for one.

"Is that your answer to everything? Drink?"

Erik turned to her with stone cold eyes. He could have argued with her over what she had said. He could have even told her to leave. But he was too exhausted to do so.

"Do you want a drink or not?"

Christine nodded a yes and took off her jacket. After placing her things in the closet she walked in the living room, where she was greeted by the heavy odor of whiskey.

"Help yourself to whatever you want," he said as he continued to switch from channel to channel.

Christine walked to the bar and pulled out two bottles of clear liquids. After a few minutes she poured a mixture into a martini glass. With the fine crystal glass in hand, she went to join Erik on the couch.

"What is that?" he asked as he averted his attention to the drink she held in her hands. It surprised him that the woman knew how to make drinks.

"Vodka martini."

"Aren't you supposed to shake that?"

"No. Any drink containing just spirits should only be stirred with ice cubes."

The way she spoke of making a drink truly amazed him. She spewed out the details as if they were common sense. He had never taken Christine as the drinking type.

"I used to be a bartender," she confessed as she sipped her drink.

After a few minutes in silence, with only the noise from some movie, Christine turned to Erik.

"You're not going to ask why I'm here?"

"I already did and if you wanted me to know, you would have told me."

She finished her drink and placed the glass on the table. Erik had a large, rectangular crystal shaped bottle with a honey colored drink inside. Next to it was a half empty crystal glass.

"May I?" she asked, looking at the direction of Erik's drink.

"Go ahead."

Christine picked up his glass and pressed the cold, crystal rim to her lips. The golden liquid hit her tongue; it burned, which caused her to frown. The liquid traveled down her throat, leaving behind a trail of fire. She liked it. Amidst the burn there was a sweet hint hidden in the strong overlay of the liquor.

Erik watched Christine as she took another sip before putting the glass down. The shimmering golden liquid had glazed over her pink lips. He wanted nothing more than to lean down and capture those damp, pink petals with his and lick off the liquor that stained them. When her eyes turned to meet his, he found it nearly impossible to fight off his impulses.

Exhaling slowly, Erik turned back to the TV. He knew that if he spent anther second gazing upon the woman, the only possible outcome would include him on top of her kissing her mercilessly until they were both breathless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Christine staring out of the window. Her fingers were rubbing against the ring finger of her left hand, a finger which was still naked.

"I take it you had another fight with your little fiancé," he said dryly.

"He's…he's mad about the clothes," she said as she continued to gaze out to the city. "He said if I needed something I should have asked him for it. And he…he doesn't want me to work for you anymore."

Christine did not want to share such details with Erik, but she desperately needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen to her. Erik was the only person available.

"If I were him I would not want you near me either," he said with a smirk. It was clear that that fiancé of hers was becoming a tad jealous and insecure.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she turned to look at him.

Erik simply turned to face her. His eyes had ignited with the same flames she had seen after he had kissed her that day in his office. It was the same fire that had emerged when he had pulled her close to him after he had bandaged her hand. Christine no longer needed Erik to explain what he had meant, for his intentions were clearly reflected in his amber pools.

At the realization, Christine averted her eyes from the man sitting next to her, opting for the TV. She could feel her heart begin to pound and a blush emerging on her cheeks. Her fingers entwined with one another as she nervously played with them.

Erik rose from his spot on the sofa and headed for the bar.

"You want something else to drink?"

"Yes," she answered quickly. Maybe that would help her get her mind off from what Erik had just said.

That one drink lead to another. And the other to a few more. By 2:00 AM they were taking tequila shots, licking the salt from their hand and biting down on sour lemons. That was the last thing he remembered: the adorable frown that overtook her face as she bit down on the lemon, shutting her eyes as the juice glided down her throat.

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Erik smiled at the image of Christine's face during the tequila shots. He was engulfed in the memory, not wanting to remove the sight of Christine from his mind.

"Good morning," said a faint voice, calling him back to reality.

"Morning," he responded as he saw Christine standing in front of him. She looked so pale, ill, and ready to fall to the floor from lack of energy. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," she said with a sarcastic smile.

"You're fiancé dropped by this morning," he said as he picked up his coffee from the desk.

"He knows I'm here?"

"Yes, he does. Next time you are trying to hide from someone make sure you do not park your car where everyone can see it," he suggested before taking gulp of the caffeinated drink.

Raoul had come knocking at his door at eight in the morning. He was dressed in a luxurious gray suit, his golden hair combed back, and a bright smile. All in all, he did not seem the least bit fazed about the problems the two were having with their relationship.

Erik had never liked Chatsworth. The man was worthless, except for his last name. He had connections, nothing more. Erik was planning on firing him, and his behavior with Christine was only giving him more reason to do so.

"What did he say?"

"To call him when you wake up."

That had been literally all the man had said. He had stood in front of Erik and politely asked for him to give Christine the message. Raoul had not demanded to see her. He had not even questioned why Christine had gone to Erik after he had specifically told her to quit her job.

Christine nodded in understanding, averting her eyes to the floor. Disappointment was clearly written on her face. She had been expecting more from the boy.

"I'm going to head home,' she whispered. "Thank you for letting me stay here last night."

He nodded, unable to procure any words that would depict his confusion. Why did Christine keep returning to Chatsworth when it was clear he was not what she needed or wanted?

"I'll see you Monday," she said with a faint smile before making her exit.


	11. Eventful Evening

**This chapter is longer then usual. It was supposed to be two chapters, but it didn't quite flow like I wanted it to if it was broken up. I hope you enjoy it. **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera_

Chapter 11: Eventful Evening

Christine sat on her sofa, wrapped in a white towel. Her long dark curls hung at her sides, sticking to her wet skin. The TV was on but the voices of the actors were muted. Her eyes looked down at the floor, scanning the cracks on the hardwood panels. She could not stop thinking about last night. Not about the fight she had had with Raoul, but about Erik.

It had been ages since she had laughed as hard as she had last night. She knew the over indulgence in alcohol had played a large role in the evening, but so had the man who had sat by her side and poured the heavy liquor in the shot glasses and cut the lemons.

She smiled to herself as images of the masked man appeared before her. He was so obnoxious, childish, stubborn and rude, yet there was something about him that made her heart scream whenever he was near. And the way he had looked at her last night set her loins ablaze. If he had kissed her, she would have gladly complied.

The kiss they had shared in the study a few days ago had been on Christine's mind for some time now. She scolded herself continuously for thinking about Erik, about his kiss. She had forced herself to believe that he was merely playing mind games with her, trying to irritate her even further by kissing her, but last night…what he said…the way he looked at her…Christine was sure that their kiss had been more than a game.

She lay down on the sofa, placing a pillow under her head. Her smile from her thoughts of Erik was lost as the memory of the fight with Raoul made its way from the back of her mind.

It had all felt so surreal. She had walked though the apartment door to find Raoul sitting on the couch, watching TV. He turned to her, smiling as he always did. When his eyes landed on the bags she had been carrying, a subtle frown settled on his brow, a frown which only deepened once he found out that Erik had purchased the clothes for her.

_"This is ridiculous, Christine. You are my fiancé. I am the one that provides for you." _His lecture had ended with: "_You're quitting."_

His words still rung in her ears. Is that what their marriage would be like? Him providing for her, and in turn she would remain at home, taking the role of a housewife? The argument escalated to the point where Christine had no longer been able to control her frustration and had screamed it all out, allowing all her rage to engulf Raoul.

Now, as she lay on the sofa, guilt washed over her. Raoul had not deserved what she had said. He had always been there for her in the past, always ready to help out, and never asked for anything in return. He stood by her side though the worst, never once voicing a complaint.

Christine closed her eyes as a new headache moved in, causing a new pain. The aftershocks of her heavy drinking were still hitting her full force even after the aspirin, coffee and shower. Even through the pain she managed to smile. She would have never traded last night for the world.

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Raoul knocked on the door at 6:00 PM. They had made plans to have dinner that night, dinner with his parents, who had flown in from California. The arrangements had been made months ago. Not going was not an option.

"Hey," he said with a smile as he walked inside. He was dressed in his black suit and white dress shirt. A black tie hung around his neck, disappearing inside his buttoned jacket.

"Hey back."

They stared at one another in silence. Christine found it difficult to keep eye contact with Raoul. She did not want to see him. She just wanted to be alone, to think things over.

"About last night…I'm sorry. It was not my place. I should have never asked you to quit your job."

It was a sweet, sincere apology, but it did little to relieve Christine's anxiety. She did not anything would be able to cure that strange feeling in her chest every time the subject of their relationship came up. Still, she played along, accepted his apology and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper," she whispered in his ear as they hugged. He smelled of a strong aftershave which she once found enticing. As he held her, the smell was making her ill. The whole meeting coupled with the evening ahead was making her head spin. She did not know how much longer she could keep this up.

"My mom brought with her a few wedding ideas and the finalized guest list," he said as they broke apart. "It will be slightly larger then we originally planned, but no worries."

_No worries?_ She was to be wed in front of hundreds of people she had never met before in her life. Her wedding would compromise of an extravagant ceremony and lavish dinner surrounded by strange faces who would care less about her. Her wedding was going to be a social event, not about her, not about Raoul. His mother had made sure of just that.

"We still have to set a date," he said s he walked to her bedroom.

She had been avoiding that detail for months now. Setting a date would be finalizing it all, sealing her fate with Raoul.

"I'm not sure. I need some more time to think it over," she said in a barely audible voice.

"Here," said Raoul as he emerged from the bedroom with the engagement ring in hand. "You'll want to wear this. You're not working tonight."

Christine took the gold diamond ring from his hand, looking at the brilliant stone that lit in the center. She slipped the ring in place, but did not dare look at her hand. She looked up at Raoul instead and gave him a gentle smile, which he instantly returned.

"Shall we?" he asked as he reached out his hand.

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Christine sat in between Raoul and his mother. Raoul's parent's had never truly approved of their union. Their son was, after all, born into a world of riches and high social standing, a world that Christine could never be a part of. They had never said anything, but they never had to. Christine did not need someone to spell out the disappointment his parents felt in the bride their son was to take.

"How have you been Christine?" asked the middle-aged woman as she took a sip of the bubbling liquid in the tall, fluke glass. Her delicate hands seemed to glide through the air as she moved them.

"Fine, thank you," she responded calmly. The old woman was beginning to get to her. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke reeked of superiority. Christine had always hated her kind. "I just started a new job."

"Oh," she said before taking another sip.

"Where?" asked the gray haired man who sat next to her.

"I am Mr. Erik Rousseau's new assistant," she said with confidence as she picked up her own glass.

"Rousseau? The owner of Rochester Co.?" Christine nodded. The old man was frowning at the news. "Raoul, you work there, right?"

"Yes. Mr. Rousseau's assistant will be leaving for a few weeks and Christine will be replacing him. It's a temporary position."

"So it's temporary," said the woman with what appeared to be a sigh of relief. "It would have been a catastrophe if the two of you worked under the same roof."

"What do you mean?" asked a puzzled Christine.

"Well, Christine," she began with that irritating smile that mocked her question, "lets just say that rumors would emerge; rumors which our family would not benefit from."

"Rumors about what?"

Christine never received her answer for a waiter appeared at their table. The cold eyed man dressed in black greeted everyone at the table and began to take the orders. Once the man left the table, the conversation about the wedding details began. It was not much of a conversation, but rather an informational meeting where Christine was being told what she was to wear, what was to be served, where it was to take place…her voice was muted by her future mother-in-law.

"That's a bit too much," she finally managed to get in after she heard the outrageous number of guests that were to attend the ceremony and reception.

"Trust me my dear, it's necessary." The women took another sip of her drink. "Do not worry, Christine."

Do not worry. Do not worry! This was concerning her wedding. Hers! How was she not to worry? The room was beginning to spin around her. Her head was pounding in rhythmic beats that muted the voices of the people around her.

Christine needed to get out, to get away. Fast.

The answer to her prayer came in the form of a buzzing phone that rested in the pocket of Raoul's jacket.

"Raoul," scolded his mother. "Turn that off immediately."

"I'm sorry mother." But instead of turning off his silver phone he answered it. The old woman was burning in anger at the sight of her son disobeying her.

"Yes," he said confused. "Yes, she is."

Raoul turned to Christine with the phone extended to her.

"It's for you."

Puzzled, Christine took the phone from his hand, pressing the cold plastic against her ear. The gentle voice from the other line belonged to the angel of mercy.

"Christine," said Nadir. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No it's fine." _It's more than fine._

"I can't reach Erik, or rather he is refusing to pick up the phone. There are a few documents I left in his office and I need faxed over immediately."

"I'm on it," she replied without skipping a beat. She was willing to do just about anything to get out of there.

Closing the phone, she turned to look at the stunned faces of Raoul and his parents. She was ready to burst into laughter from the sight before her.

"I'm sorry," she said as she rose. "I really have to go. Mr. Rousseau needs me for something."

"Let me drive you," said Raoul as he rose from his chair.

"No," she said quickly. "You can't just leave your parents here."

If he came with her, Christine was sure he would wait until she was done with her work. That meant that they would have to spend the evening together or even worst, return to the restaurant.

"It's alright, Raoul," said the wicked witch dressed in a cream colored suit with the white pearls dangling from her neck. "You go ahead. We'll be fine."

Christine smiled at the woman who had picked up her glass and sipped her drink slowly. Her black eyes stared at Christine, lighting up in pure spite.

"Ready?" asked Raoul as he pushed his chair in.

With a nod and fake smile Christine turned away from the people who were to become her parents-in-law, the people who were to be part of her future. A shudder ran through her at the thought of being related to them.

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"You want me to wait for you?" he asked as he watched Christine slide the card to open the apartment door.

"No, Raoul, it's fine."

She opened the door and walked though, stepping into the sleek, modern, expertly decorated apartment. At the sight of it, Christine swore Raoul's mouth nearly fell open.

"Wow," he said as he followed her inside. "This is beautiful."

Erik emerged. The sight of an unwelcome visitor standing in his apartment, in his home, made his fingers curl into fists. The fact that the intruder was Chatsworth made the veins on his hands rise to the surface.

"May I help you?" roared Erik as he walked to the man.

"Good evening, Mr. Rousseau," said Raoul automatically when he heard his boss' voice. He extended his hand, but Erik's never rose to meet it. Instead he stared at the intruder's outstretched fingers with a frown. "I was just dropping off Christine."

"Then why are you still here?" he asked as his eyebrow rose high on his forehead.

Christine saw Raoul's face begin to pale. His hands had begun to slightly shake as he tried to keep his posture in front of his boss. He was afraid of Erik? The man was intimidating, but Christine could not really understand what was there to be scared of?

"I was just leaving," he managed to say after he took a deep, uneasy breath.

"I'm waiting," said Erik, his honey colored eyes staring at the man who seemed ready to faint.

"Goo-g-good night," he said before turning around and making a swift exit. "Are you coming over tonight?" he asked when he had crossed the threshold, stepping out of Erik's territory.

"I'll try," she said with a faint smile.

When the door was shut, Christine turned to Erik, who seemed very pleased with the effect he had had on Raoul.

"You are horrible," she spat out, staring at him with a frown.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nadir called. He needs some papers he had forgotten in your office."

Christine's left hand rose to push away a stray curl. As she did, her gleaming diamond ring came into full view. The gold band and clear stone made Erik's stomach turn. He masked his uneasiness with a smirk.

"Nice ring," said before turning around and leaving.

Christine took off the piece of jewelry without even looking at it. She put it in her black purse, unable to stand the sight of it.

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Christine had sent the papers to Nadir over an hour ago. She was now sitting in the living room, staring at the black screen of the TV, waiting for Nadir to call. He had asked her to stay just in case something came up and he needed other documents. Erik, of course, could not be bothered with such trivial things.

She was so tired. Her body was screaming to lie down, her eyes begging to be closed and every muscle in her aching, exhausted body wanted to shut down, even for just a few minutes.

Her mind could no longer control her body and she soon found herself entering a world of darkness and peace.

---------------------------------------

Erik walked down the office, the black phone in his hand. Nadir was on the other line and wanted to speak with Christine. From the stairs he saw Christine lying on the sofa, sleeping. He smiled at the image of the sleeping woman as he spoke with Nadir. Apparently everything was in order and Christine had been relieved of any duties for the night. He went to tell her she could leave, but found himself unable to formulate the words. She was nothing short of beautiful

Her delicate, velvety curls cascaded over the pillows of the sofa. Her eyes were gently shut, dark lashes resting on alabaster skin. Her hypnotic, full lips were slightly parted. God how much he wanted to lean down and capture those lips with his, to taste every inch of her sweet mouth again. The mere thought caused a low moan to manifest itself deep in his throat.

His long, elegant fingers captured one of the glorious curls that had traveled to her cheek, and rejoined it with the rest of the dark mahogany colored beauties. Then they ever so lightly graced the smooth skin of her cheek. As he did, he felt her stir, just before a simple, sweet smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Christine's violet eyes fluttered open at the feel of his hand. Looking up into his amber eyes, she felt her smile disintegrate. Just like that night at his office, her heart began to pound against its bony prison, its wailings echoing in her head. She found her eyes traveling south, landing on his full, luscious lips, silently begging him to kiss her.

He did.

Erik's mouth came crushing down on hers with brutality. His seeking tongue dipped into her mouth demanding access and set out to explore the hidden treasures within.

The passion that radiated from his kiss emitted a sweet moan from Christine. The sound of it sent Erik over the edge. He found himself moving above her, covering her supple curves with his rigid muscles. His hands sought the feeling of her skin as they traveled beneath her shirt.

The feel of his hands against her abdomen jolted her out of the passionate craze that had enveloped her mind.

"No," she said as she pulled her lips away from his. "You have to stop."

He did not.

Instead his lips began to travel down to her collarbone, suckling the tender flesh, as his hands continued their exploration of her delicate body. Another moan escaped her lips. Her back arched, pressing harder against Erik. She was trying to fight him, but the sweet torture he was putting her through was too strong for reason to win over.

_Christine, you have to stop this, _screamed the voice in her head.

Her hands were now pressed against his shoulders, trying to push him away. But no amount of strength could possibly have stopped Erik from tasting the sweet nectar that was Christine.

Erik's exploring hands had snaked round her arched back, working on the clasps of her bra. His lips made their way to hers once more, but were met by rejection as Christine moved her head to her side. Her actions only succeeded in fueling the flame in his amber globes.

His lips made their way to her ear, gently kissing and teasing her earlobe.

"Do you really want me to stop, Christine?" he asked in a seductive whisper as his hands began to make their way to the treasure he had just released from the prison of lace.

His question was met by a long, desperate moan that seemed to shake her whole when his fingers found their way to the taunt peaks of her breasts. His hands expertly manipulated the tender flesh, teasing the hardened bud.

"Erik, I can't," she whimpered.

"No one is stopping you."

His lips had once again found the sweet flesh of her neck, and set out to taste every inch of it.

"I'm engaged," she managed to say.

"To a man you care nothing about," he said in between kisses.

"I love him."

The words echoed in his head, causing him to leave the heaven that was her neck and rise, wanting to see into her magical eyes. But she refused to turn to meet his, afraid that if she did, she would lose whatever self control she had left.

One of his hands slithered out of her shirt, and grasped her chin in between his fingers, forcing her to turn to him. Looking into those breathtaking pools of clear violet, he knew without a doubt her feelings for her so called fiancé.

"You lie."

Erik connected their lips again and Christine eagerly responded, kissing him back with just as much passion. Her hands slithered from his shoulders to the back of his head, threading her fingers with the raven hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

Her legs slowly parted allowing Erik to rest between her thighs. Then they rose, wrapping themselves around his waist. Her movements forced a long, deep moan to surge from Erik, which was captured by her tender lips.

The kiss was broken once again, only this time by Erik. He looked down at her, searching her eyes and found the flames of passion burning with intensity he had never witnessed before in anyone. Not even Renee.

Christine looked up at Erik and licked her lips in anticipation. Extending her neck, she reconnected their lips, needing to feel his heated, magical, and dominating mouth on hers. Her seeking hands pulled him closer to her, trying to close as much distance between them as possible.

Erik began to rise from the sofa with Christine hanging on to him. His strong arms held her secure as he walked down the hallway. The kiss was making it nearly impossible to keep his balance, and the way her fingers traveled up and down his neck, teasing him, nearly made him drop her.

Fighting though the temptation to push her against the wall and take her right there and then, Erik made it to his room. He laid her on the bed, their lips never parting, her legs still locked around his waist.

_God, don't let this be a dream_, he prayed as he suckled her warm tongue.

Christine was lost in the passion, lost in the feeling of his lips and hands. She wanted this. She wanted him. It did not matter that they knew nothing about each-other. It did not matter that they fought every day they were together. Nothing mattered.

They began pulling at each-others clothes, tearing them off like savage animals. With the clothes out of the way, their hands began roaming, feeling the heated flesh of one another.

Erik broke away from her lips, his mouth traveling south to taste the areas that his fingers had been given the privilege to feel. He kissed even inch of her neck, collarbone, and suckled her glorious white globes, all the while listening to Christine's euphoric moans and incoherent words.

Christine's eyes had fluttered shut as Erik's lips explored her naked flesh. But her violet pools shot open in pure bliss when his long, elegant fingers traveled down to the junction at her thighs and began to tease the sensitive, swollen nub.

As his fingers played with her heated core, Erik's lips traveled back up to be rejoined with hers. Christine's hands snaked to his back, her fingernails digging into the flesh as she tried to contain the emotions he was jolting in her.

"God, I want you," he groaned as his lips and tongue claimed her.

He entered her quickly, unable to contain himself any longer. This was not lovemaking. No. This was nothing short of an act of pure lust; this was an aching primordial want that exploded every time he was near her, near Christine. And he knew that she too had developed that same ache for him.

Their passion filled moans and screams shook the walls as they both rode a majestic wave of pure ecstasy. Erik collapsed atop of Christine, his face buried in her curls. Their slick, sweat covered bodies gleamed from the golden moonlight that penetrated the glass windows. The sound of labored breathing and racing hearts consumed the room.

When her breathing returned to normal, as her thoughts became clear again, Christine felt her head begin to spin, and this time not from passion.

_What have you done?_ she asked herself as her right hand left Erik's muscular back to touch her damp forehead.

"Oh God," she whimpered. "What have we done?"

Erik rose from her neck enough to look into her eyes, which were covered in a cloud of concern, of confusion and disbelief. He said nothing. Instead he smirked, which only served to give birth to another layer of emotion in her eyes: anger.

"Get off," she ordered, her hands going to his shoulders in an attempt to push him away. "I have to go."

Erik grabbed her hands, pinning them above her head, his smile widening at Christine's clear aggravation. He dipped his head, his smiling lips tormenting her ear once again.

"You're not going anywhere," he informed her as he began to gently kiss the skin just below her ear. "We are far from done."

"Erik, let me go!" she screamed as she began to struggle.

Before Christine could say another word, her voice was silenced by his lips, which claimed hers once again. How was it that his kiss could make all her concerns disappear? How was it that every time he touched her, she felt the world around her melt away?

Soon she stopped struggling, allowing her eyes to flutter close and fall prey to him once again. He released her hands, which she immediately used to thread into his hair and pull him closer to her.

Nothing had ever felt more right to Christine than that moment, than Erik.


	12. The Morning After

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera_

Chapter 12: The Morning After

The warm rays of the sun caressed her delicate face, making her skin appear to be glowing, though her skin did not need aid from the sun to glow. She lay on the bed, half awake, not wanting to move. Never had she felt more comfortable, more at peace than at that moment, snuggled against a warm body beneath soft sheets.

Smiling, she opened her eyes, only to realize she was not at home. Flashes of the events of the previous night flooded her mind, making the color from her face drain away. She felt her body begin to tremble, her heart constrict till she could no longer breathe.

"Go back to sleep, Christine," said the man who lay next to her.

Erik had felt her stir and had woken up as well. He tightened his grip on her abdomen, pulling her closer to him. He desperately needed to feel her warm, soft skin against his. He could not get enough of the goddess that rested on his bed. Burying his face in her curls, he shut his eyes, wanting to get back to sleep, with Christine in his arms.

"I—I have to go," she managed to say in between quick intakes of breath. Her hand fell on Erik's arm and she tried to pry it off. No use. "Erik, let me go," she ordered as she began to struggle against his grip.

"Maybe later," he said into her hair, a smirk appearing on his face.

"No. This is not a game Erik!" she screamed. "Let. Me. Go."

Erik responded by pulling her tighter, his lips now pressed against the soft flesh of her neck. His tongue slowly made its way out of the cave, tasting her sweet neck before his lips joined in.

"Erik, don't!"

He pulled out of her hair and forced her on her back. Climbing on top of her, he pinned her hands at her sides. Erik looked down at Christine with that same burning flame of lust that had consumed his eyes the pervious night. Dipping his head, he gave her a hard, long, passionate kiss that made the room around her turn into a swirl of colors and indefinable objects.

Before she knew it, Erik had rolled off of her and was lying on his back on the other side of the bed. His eyes were closed and an arrogant smile played on his lips.

"You're free to go, Ms. DeMarco."

She did not. Instead she stood up, holding the silk sheet across her chest, looking down at the man to her right. Christine wanted to say something, anything, regarding what they had done last night. But the words did not want to be formulated. The truth was she had loved the way Erik had made her feel. She had loved his kisses, his touches even the small bites that had left markings on her neck.

"Change your mind?" he asked, looking up at her with those magnificent eyes, those passionate eyes that captivated her. She could not tear her eyes away from him, and had not even realized he was speaking to her. "Christine?" he asked.

Christine shut her eyes and turned away. A light blush erupted on her glowing cheeks.

"I need to go," she finally said, pulling the silk sheet with her as she got up to look for her clothes. "This," she said as she collected her clothes, "us, last night. It never happened."

"Whatever makes you happy, Ms. DeMarco," he said with a sly smile. Just watching her walking about, those curls bouncing on her shoulders, aroused him. Knowing that no clothes lay beneath the thin silk sheet that was wrapped around her was not making it any easier for him to keep his hands to himself.

Christine whirled around, racing to the bathroom, but the end of the sheet she was wearing tangled with her feet. She began to struggle, trying to get the white sheet to cooperate, but gravity took its toll and she fell. Christine sat on the cold hardwood floor, tangled in bedding and her own clothes, fuming, tugging at the sheet.

At the sound of her muffled complaints, Erik shook his head from side to side. And they said he had a temper. Pulling a pair of black pajama bottoms on, he made his way to the pool of white.

Extending his hand, he helped her to her feet. As she rose, her eyes locked on with Erik's. So engulfed was she in those golden globes that she did not even notice that the sheet had slipped and exposed her right breast.

Erik's eyes immediately locked on to the feast that was presented to him. He could feel his mouth water at the sight of the creamy colored globe and rosy bud. God what he would give to taste her sweet, smooth flesh again.

"You'd better hold on tight to that," he told her as he pulled the sheet up to cover her exposed breast. "I doubt you'll want a repeat of last night."

Christine did not say anything. The feel of his strong hand on her breast alone was stirring emotions in her. Her breath began to come in short gasps, her breasts rising and falling in fast intervals.

Erik leaned down, his lips next to her ear. A playful smile lit his face. He had seen the way she had responded to his touch, and was more than pleased by it.

"Unless you do want a repeat of last night," he said, his hot breath making her melt. His hand slipped from her breast, circling her waist as he pulled her closer. His lips began to form a trail of hot, sweet kisses on her neck.

Christine closed her eyes, surrendering once more to him. Her hand rose to entwine with his hair as she bend her neck to give him better access.

"I thought you were going to leave," he said in between kisses.

Christine's eyes opened at his comment. She pulled at his hair until he was facing her. Without giving it another though, she shot forth, her lips hungrily feasting on his. Erik immediately kissed her back, welcoming her tongue into his mouth. This was side of Christine he had not witnessed the other night. Sure she had kissed him last night, but not like this. He couldn't breath; she would not give him a chance too. But as long as she continued kissing him, his body could do without oxygen.

The back of his legs hit the bed. Christine broke their kiss, much to his disappointment. She looked up at him, and what he saw in those pools was not that angelic looking woman who walked through those bedroom door a few weeks ago, but a hungry, passion consumed tigress who had him trapped. God, he was trapped and he never wanted to be released from her prison.

She pushed at his bare chest, till he sat on the foot of the bed. Her hand rose to gently caress his unmasked cheek, as Erik's hands traveled up her thighs, past her waist, and to the rim of the sheet that was still concealing her body from his eyes.

Pulling lightly at the sheet, he watched the light fabric slip down her glorious curves. Christine took in a deep breath when she felt Erik's hands travel down her naked flesh. His hands stopped on her waist, pulling her closer to him. She obliged him by taking two small steps toward him.

Erik's hands wrapped around her, his finger's stroking her bare back, feeling the muscle movement with each breath she took. He looked up into her eyes before his lips began to kiss her abdomen, slowly making their way up.

"Erik," she whispered as her eyes closed, her fingers submerged in his hair. "Oh God."

"Erik," yelled a third person, someone from the hallway. Nadir.

Christine's eyes shot open and pulled away from Erik, her heart racing. She bend down, pulling the white sheet that lay at her feet. She was trembling, her hands barely able to hold on to the sheet. The moment was gone; the passion in her eyes had washed away. With a severe frown, Erik rose from the bed and walked out of the room.

"What!" he yelled back, his voice scaring the Persian. There was a murderous look in his eyes, and Nadir did not want to be the person Erik relieved whatever anger he was feeling on.

"I just came to drop by the final—"

"Couldn't this wait till Monday?"

"You told me to bring them by as soon as they were ready," he said in his defense, before a confused look came over his features. "Why are you still in your pajamas?" he asked. Erik was always up as the sun made its way up the horizon, yet there he was, looking like he had just woken up and it was nearly 10 AM.

"Why do I need to justify anything to you?"

"Christine still here?" asked Nadir when he spotted her jacket.

Erik grabbed the files from Nadir's hand and shot him a warning look.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Good morning, Nadir," said Christine as she hurried down the hallway. "I fell asleep on the couch last night," she said as she went to retrieve her jacket. All the while she spoke, she did not look up at Nadir.

"I'm gonna get going. Raoul is probably waiting for me."

"Mr. Chatsworth left for Boston last night," he informed her. Nadir felt it was strange Christine had not known of Raoul's departure. After all, his trip had been planed months ago.

"Oh," she said, her smile washing away. She had no idea he was going to leave again. "Well, I need to go. I…I have things to do."

With a smile, she walked out the large front door. When the door was closed behind her, she realized Raoul had dropped her off last night. She had no means of getting home.

Turning back around, she pulled the white plastic card from her pocket and slid it in the slot. She did not want to go back in there. She was sure Nadir suspected something. Opening the door again, she was met by the blank stare of the two men.

"Sorry. Could one of you possibly give me a ride home?"

"Of course," said Nadir immediately.

"That's alright, I'll drive her," said Erik as he read through the papers in his hands.

"But—"

"I said I'll do it," he roared before Nadir could continue. "If this is all, you can go," he told the Persian, looking at him with burning rage. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik watched Nadir kiss Christine's hand, which still aggravated him, and leave.

"I'll be back in a second," he said, not looking up at Christine. She watched him walk to his room, and close the door behind him. Christine had hoped Nadir would have given her a ride. With everything that had happened with Erik, she did not know how to act around him at the moment.

-----------------------------

The metallic elevator doors slid open. Erik and Christine had not said a word to each other since they left the apartment. Christine was a nervous wreck, and Erik did not seem to care at all.

"Here you go," he said as he handed her a set of keys.

Her brow frowned at the sight of the metallic objects in the palm of her hand. Car keys. He would not have bought her a car after everything she had said. Then again, this was Erik, and he never listened to anything anyone said.

"What—"

"Don't ask stupid questions," he said as he walked out the elevator. "You know exactly what those are."

"I told you—"

"Yes. I know. And those are not keys to your car. It's mine."

She narrowed her eyes in confusion as she followed him down the deserted, brightly lit underground garage. She had never been down there before. They were surrounded by hundreds of cars, which all seemed brand new.

"It's right over there," he told her as he pointed to a silvery blue car parked at the corner. It was a small sports car, nothing extravagant or showy. "I never drive it," he said as he walked to the car.

"Then why'd you buy it?"

"I didn't. I've only purchased three of the cars I own."

"I don't understand."  
"My investments, Christine. They usually slip in a car or two to sweeten the deal, so to say."

"Bribe?"

"Yes."

She pressed the red button on the remote attached to the keys and watched the red lights blink. Christine walked closer to the car, her hand lightly touching its smooth surface. Her fingers stopped on the four conjoined circles that rested on the black front grill.

An Audi. A beautiful new Audi TT. And she was going to drive it.

"So that there are no further complaints on your part, the car has been added to your contract, which specifically states that it is a 'company car' and you are to drive it only as long as you are employed at the company."

Christine smiled at Erik's words, her eyes never tearing away from the silver symbol on the grill. She had always wanted to drive an Audi. Now, she had the keys to one in her hand.

"Is there a problem?" he asked when Christine did not say anything.

"No," she said shaking her head from side to side. "It's perfect."

"Great," he said as he pulled out another set of keys from his jacket and turned around to walk back up the elevator. "I'll see you Monday."

Christine absentmindedly nodded, her eyes still glued to the car. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik watched the most beautiful smile light her face. The strange part of seeing her rejoice was the foreign feeling that jolted his heart. Erik never liked doing anything for anyone. Everything was about personal gain. But watching Christine, he would gladly give her anything to see that smile on her face everyday.

A/N: I am sorry it took me so long to update, but I had my finals a week ago. Too much organic chemistry studying has also lead to alterations in my though process and it has taken a few days for my brain to return to normal. But I'm done with classes now and I will update more often.


	13. The Little Dragonfly

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera _

Chapter 13: The Little Dragonfly

Monday arrived and with it a decision. Christine had known for some time now that her relationship with Raoul could no longer be defined as a romantic one. It pained her still to accept the fact that the only person who had ever truly cared for her might turn his back to her, might hate her because of what she was going to say.

Christine looked out of the small apartment window, up at the light blue sky with rosy lights illuminating the horizon, and a tear slid down her cheek. Christine had always been alone, always ignored. Her mother had only acknowledged her presence when she needed money. Her father, well, the only thing he had ever cared for was the six-pack in the fridge. And even after everything she had gone though because of those two, they still treated her as nothing more than their personal piggy bank.

But Raoul had changed that. Raoul had made her feel significant, worth while. When he had come into her life five years ago, she was sure he was going to be her salvation, her prince charming that had come to take her away on his white horse.

Christine wiped away another tear. She should have known that it would have never lasted. Nothing remotely close to good had ever lasted for her. It seemed that whenever joy came knocking at her door, it was gone before she could answer. Why did she even bother trying if in the end nothing changed?

Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes. She did not know how she was going to tell him, but she had to, she needed to. She could no longer pretend that everything was alright. And as much as she hated to admit it, Erik, that arrogant, capricious man, had helped her come to a decision, a decision that she in no way was going to turn back on.

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The week had rolled away, flown by undetected like the breeze in the spring days. She sat in her car, driving down the crowded highway, trying to get home. Nadir had kept her in the office downtown the entire week, having her run errands, and explaining to her in fine details how everything worked.

Christine soon learned that this assisting job was not some simple secretary work. Apparently, due to Erik's absences, Nadir was in charge of running the place. If anyone had questions, they addressed him.

On Monday, as she sat listening to Nadir, she did not know why had had been picked for this job, given that she had absolutely no experience in the field. Christine masked her fear of failing as best she could. But somehow, by the end of Thursday, the brave façade was no longer necessary for she actually knew what she was doing.

Her achievement in the office, however, had not gone unnoticed by several frowning employees. She soon learned that quite a few people had been interested in the position and were not thrilled that it had been given to an outsider. Christine ignored their glares and the whispers she heard as she walked by the cubicles. Truth was she did not care. Erik had picked her, and that was all that mattered.

Erik.

She had not seen him all week. She wondered how he was doing by himself.

_He probably has a new maid, Christine_, screamed the voice in her head.

The idea of another woman in his apartment was not sitting well with her. Just because they had slept together did not mean they were together or anything. But still, she could not shrug off this uneasy feeling that was growing at the pit of her stomach.

The highway exit that lead to his apartment came up and some unknown force made her take it. She found herself driving down crowed streets, skyscrapers illuminating her path. The majestic Time Warner Center appeared before her, like a castle in the sky, surrounded by magical, wispy clouds.

Stopping in front of the main entrance, she sat in her car, staring at the leather covered steering wheel. What was she doing? She was blowing everything out of proportion. Erik was her boss and nothing more.

"Ms?" asked a young parking attendant. "Would you like me to take your car down to the garage?"

"Yes," she said without thinking. Christine got out of the car and watched the Audi disappear inside the darkened tunnel.

The walk that brought her to his apartment was a complete blur. She did not recall walking inside the building, or the elevator ride. Yet there she was, standing in front of his door, not knowing what to say once she walked in.

Christine opened the door, and was met by loud coughing. With a frown she scanned the room and her eyes fell upon the man who lay groaning on the red sofa in the living room.

"Erik?" she asked softly as she closed the door behind her.

"What?" The groaning man rose to sit up, his brain feeling two sizes to big for his head.

"Are you alright?"

Erik looked up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eight. He could not believe he had spent the last two hours lying on the sofa. Then it suddenly came to him, Christine was there, standing in his living-room. Why was she here? He looked up at her with a frown.

"I just came to make sure you were alright," her voice dimming as she finished her sentence.

"Thank you for your concern, Ms. DeMarco, but shouldn't you be with your precious fiancé?"

"He's not back from Boston," she replied in a whisper. Raoul was to return Sunday night. They had spoken on the phone, but she was not going to break off their engagement over the phone, she owed him more than that.

Erik began to cough again, a dry cough which seemed to shake him whole.

"You're sick." Christine moved closer to get a better look at him.

"You don't say," he said sarcastically just before he felt the palm of her hand lay flat against his forehead. It felt so cold, so gently. He wanted to reach up, take her hand and kiss each delicate finger. She was all he had been thinking about. He hated the fact that she had spent the last few days away from him.

"You have a fever," she said, he hands moving down to his throat. When her fingers pressed the areas on the side of his neck, he slightly grimaced. "Swollen lymph nodes."

Even though he was utterly exhausted and every inch of his body ached, watching her he could not stop thinking of Sunday, and how he wanted to finish what they had started that morning.

"Do you have a headache?" she asked.

He nodded. _From thinking about you all week. _

"Can you open your mouth for me?" Erik frowned, but did as she asked. "Ok," she said when she was done. "Do you feel achy?"

He nodded again. _And you being so close is not helping that "symptom" either._

"Chills?"

Another nod.

"When did it start?"

"Last night.'

"It just hit you, or did it become worst over time?"

"No. It started out like this—why—"

"It's the flu," she said cutting in. "I doubt it's serious, but you need to get in bed."

Erik looked up at her. Christine never failed to amaze him. Nadir had reported to him of the progress she had been making at the office. Most newcomers take weeks to adjust, yet she had learned the ropes in a few days. And now, his Christine was examining him, diagnosing his illness as if she were a trained medic.

And why was she being so sweet with him, so patient. Normally she would be snapping back at him.

"Can you get up?" she said, her eyes looking down at him with concern.

"Yes," he barked as he rose, but he immediately regretted it. The room began to spin, and his head felt like an over blown balloon, ready to explode. Groaning, his hand rose to rub his forehead.

"Come on," she said as she wove her hand around his back, the other resting on his abdomen to help him maintain his balance.

He looked down at Christine, ready to tell her he did not need her help, but something stopped him. He averted his eyes from the woman and looked ahead. With small, slow steps, they managed to get to the bedroom. Erik had never been happier to see his bed, and immediately collapsed on it, pulling his pillow over his head.

"Get under the covers," she ordered him. "I'll be back in a little while, ok?"

Erik waved her away, pressing the pillow harder against his pounding head. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was the front door opening and closing.

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Erik's eyes were wired shut. Never had he felt so exhausted yet unable to sleep. He had only been granted fifteen minutes in the dream world and Christine had been gone for well over half an hour. Lying there, bored, aggravated and in pain, he began making a list of all the possible suspects who could have caused his illness.

For some reason Christine was on the top of his list, but that was mostly because he was growing angrier at the fact that she had been gone for so long.

"I thought I told you to get under the covers,' said a sweet yet scolding voice from the foot of the bed.

"And I thought you said you'd be right back."

"You know, Erik, you are lucky you're sick right now."

He rose to look at her for a second before his head fell back on the pillow, a heavy groan on his dried lips.

"I'm going to run you a bath," she told him as she opened the bathroom door carrying God knows what in a mug.

"I'm not taking a bath," he began to complain. Taking a bath require moving. And he had already decided that until his head returned to its normal pounding free ways, he was not going to even think about getting up.

His eyes shot open at the sound of running water. Erik called out her name several times, but Christine refused to answer him. He was not going to take a bath, and she could not make him.

_Could not make me?_ He asked himself. _God, I sound like a two year old. _

"Can you get up yourself?" she asked softly from the bathroom door.

"I'm not taking a bath."

"It has fresh thyme, lavender and pennyroyal—"

"So I'll be swimming in grass?"

"It will help with your muscle aches."

"How do you know all of this?" he asked, his eyebrow rising high on his wrinkled forehead.

"Take the bath and I'll tell you." A devilish smile claimed her lips. Erik had a natural thirst for knowledge, a thirst which would drive him insane if not quenched.

Mumbling complains and groaning, he finally got himself out of bed.

---------------------------------

"I'm thirsty." Erik lay on the bed, changed in his pajamas and tucked under the covers, just like Christine had instructed.

"I'm making some tea."

"I don't like tea," he said with a frown. "It's useless, herb flavored crap."

"It's good for you."

"Just get me water."

"There's water in tea."

"Christine," he roared, but there was no response. He looked up at saw that she had left the room. "Christine," he called again.

"Here we go." Christine as she re-entered the room with a large mug of steaming tea. "Drink this," she said as she sat on the bed by his side. "It's thyme tea. It'll help with your cough."

Much to his displeasure, the bath had worked. He actually felt slightly better, though he would never tell her. The tea would probably work too, but he just did not want to drink it.

"You said you'd tell me how you learned all this stuff."

"I will."

"What do I get if I drink that thing?" he asked as he stared down at the dark colored water.

"You get to feel better." He frowned. "Fine, Erik, be a child about this. What do you want?"

"I get to ask you something, and you have to answer."

"Nothing too personal." He nodded and took the mug from her hands.

"Start talking," he told her as he took a sip of his tea, which was actually quite good.

"When I was thirteen," she began, her mind traveling back to that run-down apartment building, "there was this old Chinese woman who lived alone in the apartment below us." A delicate smile came over her and the memory of the woman. "Everyone called her Dr. Woo. Most of the people in the area could not afford hospital care, so they went to Dr. Woo. She had a remedy for everything."

"One day I came home and my parents had left and had locked the door. I was sitting out on the steps, and Dr. Woo saw me. She was such a sweet woman; taught me all about herbal remedies. I used to go and help her everyday after school."

"She used to call me her little dragonfly," her smile widened, engulfing her eyes. "For my birthday she even gave me this beautiful dragonfly necklace. It was silver, and the dragonfly had these beautiful black wings. It also had these small clear crystals surrounding the wings. I loved that thing. I wore it everyday."

The smile that had adored her face washed away. Her hand rose to feel her neck, touching the area where the necklace had once hung. She could feel the tears begin to form on her eyes, and masked her sadness with another smile.

"Drink up," she told Erik, who had been listening to her story, his eyes watching her saddened ones.

"What happened to it?" he asked.

"I—I lost it, I guess. And that merits as your question."

Erik frowned at the fact he had wasted his question. He chugged down the rest of the tea, and handed her the empty black mug. He studied her face, the façade she had built to hide whatever had actually happened. He did not know what she was hiding, but at that moment, he hated who ever had done her wrong.

Christine took the mug and placed in on the nightstand. Her fingers wrapped around a dark, small bottle that was topped off with a black dropper.

"More?"

"Stop complaining, Erik, and open up."

"I get to ask you another question."

"Fine."

Erik opened his mouth, and watched Christine open the bottle. Cool, smooth drops touched his tongue, and he cringed.

"This tastes like crap." He swallowed over and over again, hoping that his own saliva would wash away the taste.

"You're overreacting," she told him as she screwed the dropped back in place.

"How would you know?"

Christine turned to him, and leaned down. Her lips pressed to his, and her tongue darted out to sample his mouth. Erik's eyes immediately shut, relishing the flavor of her lips. Kissing him felt natural, almost expected. God, she loved his mouth, those full delicious lips. But as unexpectedly as the kiss had started, Christine pulled away, licking her lips.

"It does not taste that bad."

"I think you should have another taste," he said with one of his signature smirks, which would usually result in some witty remark on her side. Instead she laughed.

"You're question?" Christine rose from the spot on the bed and looked at the digital clock. It was nearly 11 and she needed to get home.

"What happened to your necklace?" he asked again.

"You already asked that, and I told you—"

"The truth, Christine."

The man was a human lying detector. Christine did not know why she even bothered to try to pass a lie off as the truth anymore. She could have refused to answer, but instead found herself answering, the words flowing free from her lips.

"My mother, she took it and pawned it." Looking down at the empty mug, that wretched day came back. Every smell, every sound, every breath she took that day appeared before her. She remembered her mother, storming in her room. She saw her hand extend, fingers stretched out, and told Christine to give her the necklace. Oh the tears she shed that morning, the cries that had gone unheard, and the pain that leaked through from her wounded heart.

"I'll get you some more tea," she whispered as she left the room.

Christine was gone for just a minute, yet when she returned, Erik had already kicked off the covers and was lying on his stomach groaning.

"God, everything hurts."

Christine placed the refilled cup on the nightstand and pulled the silk covers back on him. Erik had his eyes shut, swearing and insulting anything he could think of. For some reason, hearing him made her smile. When she had the covers secure around him, her fingers gently moved aside raven locks that had fallen on his cheek.

Erik did not open his eyes, but savored the feel of her skin against his. When he felt her move her hand away, his hand gently rose to grasp hers. Erik looked up at her, his stone cold eyes transformed with an alien emotion.

"I put the tea there," she said. "I'm going. I'll come to check on you tomorrow."

"No," was all he could say. Christine frowned. "Stay."

"I can't do—"

"Please."

She could not say no to him. The fact was she had not wanted to leave in the first place. His hand released her, and Christine watched him roll on his back again, his hands falling over his eyes.

"I'll stay in one of guest—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Erik's hand shot up grabbing her, pulling her on the bed. How could someone be so ill and still possess such strength? His arms wrapped around her, pressing her back close to his chest.

"You'll stay right here," he informed her as he nuzzled her hair. The one thing he was thankful for was that his nose had not clogged up, for he did not know what he would have done if he could not smell the delicate scent of her hair.

Christine turned in his arms until she could face him. Erik prepared himself for complains and drawn out explanations as to why she could not stay. Instead, what he received was a gentle kiss on the forehead and a caress on his cheek.

"Ok," she whispered, before her own arms slid over him to hold him close.

Erik closed his eyes. Whoever had given him this disease was his new favorite person.


	14. Wait and Hope

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera _

Chapter 14: Wait and Hope

Erik's eyes opened to be met by the darkness of the night. His body was shaking uncontrollably as sweat covered his face, making the mask that rested on his left side feel incredibly uncomfortable, like wearing a wool coat in mid summer.

"Are you alright?" Christine had felt him stir, and had immediately woken from her short slumber. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could see Erik wiping the exposed part of his face with his hand.

His response was a drawn out, pain filled moan. He was tired beyond reason, yet he could not sleep. He felt like he had been thrown into an oven and freezer at the same time.

The small lamp on the nightstand turned on. He cringed, his eyes shutting.

"Erik?" Sometime during the night he had rolled away to the empty side of the bed. Sitting up, Christine studied him with concern. She could see that the mask was making him uncomfortable. "You should take that off," she suggested.

His eyes shot open at her words. Christine had never mentioned the mask, never even acknowledged its presence. Her words had caught him off guard, leaving him speechless.

"I'm fine," was all he could say.

"You know, once I helped Dr. Woo treat this little girl who had fallen down on broken glass. Her back was covered in glass shards, her clothes soaked in blood. It took her hours to remove all the pieces and hours more to stitch the cuts up."

"What is you point, Christine?"

"What ever is under that mask, I can handle it."

"And then you'll say 'no matter how you look underneath it, I'll still care for you', right?" he said in a mocking manner. That is what they always said, all the women he had ever been with. He had never, never, let any of them remove the mask. He knew better than to trust any of those money-hungry creatures.

"No," she said shaking her head softly. "That's where you're wrong." He frowned. "I never said I cared for you to begin with."

Christine rose from the bed, going into the bathroom. He heard the closet doors open and close. In minutes she returned to the bedroom, a small white hand towel in her hand.

She sat by his side, her warm, compassionate eyes falling upon his. The towel fell on her lap, her hand slowly moving to the source of his distress. Fingers clutched the rim of the white mask, slowly removing it. The fresh air gently seeped in, beginning to cool the heated flesh.

In mere seconds, the white mask, the object that had imprisoned him for the past ten years, was off, resting in her hands. Erik's eyes never tore away from hers, wanting to see her reaction, waiting for her face to twist in disgust.

"Burn, right?" Christine examined his cheek, the twisted, reddened flesh. Purple veins streaked though, and a larger scar, most likely as a result of a deep cut, parted his upped cheek, just below his eye. There was only an outline, a slightly paler area, where an eyebrow had been. His amber eye had no lashes fluttering as it opened and closed.

Erik nodded.

"How did it happen?" Her vice was soft, soothing, like a gentle lullaby. With the towel in hand she began to gently wipe away the layer of sweat.

"Car accident." His voice almost broke when he felt the towel begin to touch the deformed part of his face, yet Christine never once cringed, nor shut her eyes in horror.

"You should consider yourself lucky. There are others who don't even make it out alive."

Erik shut his eyes. If she knew the whole story, the last thing she would consider him was lucky. That accident had cost him more than his face, more than social exclusion.

"There," she said with a warm smile. "Feel better?" He nodded, looking up at her. How could she smile as she gazed down upon him, upon a monster? He watched her place the mask on the nightstand, and rise with the towel in hand, leaving his side.

With eyes shut, Erik tried to process what had happened. Thoughts and memories were jumbled up, all in one large pool, swimming in his head. This was not making sense. Her reaction was not making sense. His headache suddenly increased in magnitude, forcing him to his side, clutching his head.

The bed shifted, announcing Christine's return. She was sitting up, her back pressed against the headboard.

"Head still hurt?" Erik nodded. That was all he could do, for words refused to make their way out of a self made prison in his throat. "Come here," she told him, patting her lap. He did so without question.

Resting his head on her lap, his eyes closed as her magical fingers threaded into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. The simple touch of her hands immediately made him feel better. He did not know what he would have done without her.

His eyes began to close, the voices in his head reduced to mere whispers, muffled voices that he could barely hear. There was no one else, no one except him and Christine.

"Better?"

"Hmm…Dr. Woo gave you lessons in messages too?" He wanted to hear her voice. He had not noticed how melodic it sounded, how angelic, when she was not screaming at him.

"No." A light smile tugged at her lips as she gazed down at Erik, his eyes closed, looking so sweet. "No, she didn't. Her other lessons were about classic literature. She had me read dozens of books. My favorite was _The Count of Monte Cristo._ I read that novel until the cover fell off." She chuckled at the memory.

Christine remembered the day the book fell apart. She was sitting outside, and as she made to turn the final page, the cardboard cover dropped to the dirt floor. She even remembered bringing the book back to Dr. Woo, her head hung low. The sweet old woman had tapped it back together for her, a gentle smile on her face.

"I even wrote Dantes' last words out on my backpack: 'All human wisdom is contained in these two words,'" she began, to have the quote finished by the man who rested on her lap. "Wait and hope," he murmured. Erik turned so that he could face her. "That's one of my favorite novels too."

Her fingers left his scalp to move aside the stray locks that lay plastered on his forehead, soaked from the sweat. As she did, her fingers brushed upon the deformed flesh, the contact making Erik remember that he no longer had the mask on.

No one had ever touched the left side of his face since the accident. At times he had even found it hard to lay his own hand upon the scars. But she did not seem to mind. The scars had not even fazed her.

Erik wanted to ask her for that was the only way he could be sure that her reaction was not a mere figment of his imagination, brought on by his illness. But he couldn't. Fear held him back, fear that this was not real.

Christine leaned down, placing a kiss on his forehead, her hands continuing to stroke his hair. With that kiss, all doubt washed away from his body.

"You should try to get some rest."

Erik moved from her lap to the pillow, immediately missing the feel of her hands. The lamp was shut off and in the darkness he smiled for the first time in years, a smile that widened when he felt Christine move closer to him, taking his hand into hers, their fingers weaving together.

-------------------------------

The sun made its way from beneath the horizon, flying though the light blue sky to it's thrown amidst the pale clouds. Looking outside a window, the day resembled a glorious summer morning, perfect for a day in the golden sands and blue ocean. One step outside, however, and the crisp fall wind would make all images of a beach vanish.

Erik had barely slept. The cause for his insomnia was not the fever, occasional cough or headache. No. It was the woman who lay next to him. He had spent the better part of the night gazing upon the sleeping beauty, not wanting to close his eyes in fear that she would not be there when they reopened.

A single cough jolted his chest, slightly shaking the bed, and that was all it took for her to awake. Her alabaster lashes jumped up several times as she took a deep breath. When her eyes caught sight of the man that rested next to her, they lit with joy and warmth.

"How're you feeling?" she immediately asked, her hand rising to feel his forehead. The fever had significantly dropped.

"That depends." His eyes automatically closed at the feel of her hand.

"Depends on what?"

"Will you still stay if I say I'm better?"

"You want me to stay?" Erik nodded. "Why?

He answered her question by rising on his elbow. Leaning down, his lips met hers in a gentle, chaste kiss. Looking into her eyes, he silently asked for permission to continue answering her question, permission that she gladly granted. His lips dove again, millimeters from touching hers, when a familiar voice came from the hallway.

"Erik."

"You have got to be joking me!!" he roared. His throat was still sore, but that was not going to keep him from screaming at the Persian. "I am going to kill him," he repeated over and over again as pushed the sheets aside. Grabbing the mask from the nightstand and securing it on, he made his way to the intruder.

"What do—" His words were cut short when he saw that Nadir had not come alone. By his side stood a middle-aged woman in a black suit, her graying hair pulled up in a bun. "Antoinette. Why are you here?" She had only been in his apartment twice, and that was when he was recovering from his injuries.

"Where is she?" said the aged woman, her eyes staring down at Erik. He had no idea what she was on about.

"She's looking for Christine. Apparently the only way anyone could work for you for this long is if she is locked away somewhere, being held against her will or dead." Nadir finished with an exhausted sigh. Antoinette had been trying to reach Christine last night, and had left a message, to which she had gotten no response. Nadir had tried to explain to Antoinette that Christine had been spending some extra time over at Erik's place, but she refused to listen.

"I'm right here." Christine appeared by Erik's side, a smile plastered on her face.

"Why are you here on a Saturday?" asked the old woman.

"Erik…he was sick…I didn't want to leave him alone…" her voice was dim, shaking due to the way Mrs. Giry was looking at her. She felt like a child who had been caught doing something bad.

"Here she is. Alive. Free. Now go," ordered Erik.

"Yes," said Nadir, his hand falling on Antoinette's shoulder to guide her out. "I am not done yet," said the woman.

"Trust me, you are."

"I am not afraid of that ill-mannered, child."

"You say that now." Before closing the door, Nadir remembered he needed to talk to Christine. "Oh, do you by any chance have Raoul's friend's phone number. He left the hotel last night and I can't reach him on his cell."

"No." Christine tried hard to appear as if she had known Raoul was going to see his friends in Boston. She did not even know he knew anyone in Boston. "No, I don't."

"When he calls, can you tell him to get in touch with me ASAP?" She nodded.

The door shut, leaving Christine silent. She closed her eyes. _He lied to me_.

Erik head was beginning to spin as his body realized it was no longer lying down. A sudden wave of exhaustion also hit him full force. But even though the blur of his mind, he could sense the shift in Christine's attitude.

"You should get back to bed," she whispered. "I'll get you something to eat."

_The boy,_ he thought. There could be no other explanation. Nadir had mentioned him, and now she was probably feeling guilty over what they almost did, again. Without a word, he turned away and walked back in the bedroom.

Lying on the bed, looking up at the blank ceiling, the previous night flashed before his eyes. Amidst the memories lay his decision concerning Christine. Yes. It was there, staring back at him, clearer that a finely cut colorless gemstone.

He was going to make her his.

Erik wanted her. No one else but her. And no clueless, egotistic, piece of nothing was going to keep him from Christine, his Christine, the woman who was now standing at the door with a frown.

"When was the last time you ate?" Christine had opened the refrigerator to find that, besides a few missing water bottles, nothing had been touched. The odor of several rotting vegetables had hit her as she searched around the cold box.

Erik paused. He truly could not remember when he had had something to eat. It was not unusual for him to go on with no food for a few days, but it seemed that Christine did not approve of his eating habits.

Shaking her head in disapproval, she walked to him carrying a tray with a bowl. Erik hated that disgusting soup with the chicken broth and vegetables people had forced him to eat in the past when he was ill. But what was presented to him was far from the soup he had imagined.

"It's pears." He studied the soup with intrigue. He had never seen anything like it.

"Yes. It's poached pears with honey and lemon balm soup."

"What?" _What happened to chicken soup?_

"You're throat is still sore. This will help." Nothing. "You'll like it. I promise." Still nothing. "Erik, just try it. If you don't like it you don't have to eat it." Erik stared at the bowl, a blank look on his face. He would rather have the chicken soup.

"I'm not eating this."

Picking up the silver spoon, she dove it into the bowl and picked up some of the pears. _She's feeding me now?_

"Try it," was all she said as the spoon pressed on his locked lips. No use. With a defeated sigh, she retrieved. "What will it take to get you to eat this?"

Without another word, Erik leaned forth and planted a warm, gentle kiss on her lips, a kiss which Christine immediately deepened. She dropped the spoon and her hand rose to press against the back of his head, pulling him closer. She could taste the residue of the soup on his lips; it was sweet, but not sweeter than the natural taste of his mouth.

They parted slowly, both panting, both missing the feel of each other's lips. These kisses that they had been sharing lately were driving Erik to madness. He wanted her. God, he needed her so badly and was sure he would explode soon.

Pulling back, he picked up the spoon and began eating the pear soup.

Yes. He would make her his. And no one, no one, was going to stop him.


	15. Fire Cracker

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera. _

Chapter 15: Fire Cracker

"Christine," said Nadir, his head peeking in the office, "meeting starts in five."

"Be right there," she said with a smile. This was her first staff meeting and she had never been this thrilled and frightened at the same time. "Come on," she told Erik, who was sitting at his desk, staring out of the large glass window.

This was the first of the bi-monthly meetings he attended, or rather was forced to attend. They were the only reason he would step foot in this hell hole, to look upon the faces of countless money-hungry, power-thirsty, brainless twats. Sometimes he wondered why he had hired them in the first place.

Gathering the necessary papers, she headed for the door, but Erik was not following. "Erik," she said again, "We're going to be late."

"They can't start without me, Christine," he told her. "Go ahead, I'll be right there."

When the office door shut behind her, Erik turned around, opening the top drawer on his desk. Inside was a medium sized square, black, velvety box. Picking it up, he opened it, revealing an elegant white gold necklace; a black winged dragonfly was attached on a delicate chain with small diamonds bighting it up. He closed the box and placed it back in the drawer.

Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat and walked out of the room.

--------------------------------

Erik was bored out of his mind. The only thing keeping him awake was the gorgeous woman who was sitting to his right. She looked exquisite in the black skirt suit, with her hair straightened and pulled back in a ponytail.

Christine could feel his eyes on her, and it was making it extensively hard to pay attention to the person who was talking. All she could think about were the two days they had spent together.

"Next to be discussed is the termination of our involvement with Relics Motor."

The ten people sitting at the table all flipped pages at the same time.

"This is a no-brainier," said the voice of a young man, the man who had apparently been lying to her: Raoul. He had called her late Sunday night when he had returned from his trip, but Christine had refused to pick up the phone. She needed some time to get her thoughts in order. "The company is going downhill. Profits have dropped dramatically. They're losing money left and right.'

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"If we back out, we will miss out on a lot of future profit," said the voice of a woman. Not just any woman, it was Christine. His Christine was talking. "Relics Motor has created revolutionary engines. They have worked with Zonda, Bugatti and even Lamborghini and have produced mind blowing machines."

"That doesn't mean anything, Christine," said Raoul. "It doesn't matter how good they are. The point is that—"

"Mr. Chatsworth, what do you know about cars?" Her voice was sharp, as were her eyes, which stared down at the man with blazing fury.

"I know a few things."

"I mean besides that they go vroom-vroom when you turn the key."

Raoul's heart was raging within the confines of his chest. He could feel himself redden with both anger and embarrassment. What was she doing? And why was she calling him by his last name?

Averting her eyes away from Raoul, Christine turned to the other employees, who were all watching her with wonder. This woman, who had only been working there for a few days, had the nerve to stand in front of all these men and voice her opinion?

"Relics Motor is run by only three men. Three brothers to be more specific. This company is their dream, their life. The only reason they would let profits drop is that they are making something, something that will blow everyone's minds away."

"I do not understand," said one of the men in a gray suit, who was frowning at Christine. "Profits are dropping because they are making something new?"

"Well, yes. They are a very small business. Unlike multi million dollar companies they do not have hundreds of employees. They can only focus on a set project at a time."

"So, you're saying we should stand by and watch our money go down the drain.'

At the corner of her eye, she saw Raoul smile, ridiculing her. That set her blood on fire.

"Once they release whatever they are working on, they will make more money than they are losing now."

"Then we back out now, and return when profits begin to rise," said Raoul, that smile still on his face.

"Who says they'll want you back," she snapped at him. Christine watched Raoul's face pale. The words had come out louder than intended.

Christine took a breath and looked down at her papers, pretending to be reading something. This was not the time, nor the place to express the anger she had developed the last few days for Raoul.

"It's settled than. We stay in." Erik closed the folder, watching Christine out of the corner of his eyes. "Anything else?"

"There is a drug company…K-something or other. They only develop antibiotics, so I'll go ahead and throw that away," said one of the men with a chuckle. The others followed his example and began to laugh.

Christine could not understand what was funny about a drug company, particularly one that worked with antibiotics, requesting an investment. Her eyes rose from the papers, a severe frown on her brow.

"I'm sorry, but why is this funny?"

"Because, Christine, antibiotics take years and years to develop." Raoul spoke to her as if she were a child, a silly child who had no business being there. "And even after they are released…well, we get nothing."

"Oh," she began, nodding her head. "So you have the chance to step up and do something that will help the world, but you won't because you will not be making enough money out of it."

"We're a business, Christine, not a charity."

"I hope one day you do not end up in a hospital bed with an infection which modern day antibiotics cannot cure, Mr. Chatsworth."

Erik watched Christine with fascination. God she looked so incredibly arousing when she got fired up and argued with unparalleled confidence.

"Call the company and set up an appointment."

"Mr. Rousseau—" began one of the men.

"That's final," roared Erik. No one dared to make a peep after he spoke. Erik's words were the law, and no one dared contradict him. "Anything else? No. Fine."

They all rose from their seats and watched their boss leave the meeting room, followed by Nadir and the new fire cracker, Christine.

--------------------------------

Trying to avoid Raoul, Christine had stormed down to her office. It had been Nadir's office, but he did not use it and had given it to her. She hoped Raoul would stay away. She did not want to argue with him here of all places, and she most definitely did not want to end it all now.

Sitting down at the desk, her eyes caught sight of a delicate, elegant blood red rose resting atop of a white envelope. Crisp green leaves sprung on either side of its long thorn-less, sturdy stem. The gorgeous red petals were wrapped tightly together to form a beautiful bud. A silk, black ribbon was tied around the stem into a simple bow.

With the rose in hand, she picked up the envelope, pulling out a folded note. In elegant, curvy black letters was written a fragment of a poem she had not read in years.

_Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;_

_Then to that twenty, add a hundred more:_

_A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,_

_To make that thousand up a million._

_Treble that million, and when that is done,_

_Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun._

There was no name, no indication of who had sent her this gift. But Christine knew without a doubt that it had been Erik. Taking in the scent of the fresh rose, her eyes closed, the image of the tall, dark man appearing before her.

The knock on the door shattered the picture in her head. Opening the closest desk drawer, she hid the flower and the note from who ever was knocking.

"Christine." Nadir peeked in. "Erik's looking for you."

All she could do was nod. She was sure she looked like a fool, standing there speechless with a smile engulfing her face. She could hide the gift that Erik had sent her, but the emotions that it had enticed could not as easily be concealed. Excusing herself, she stepped out of the office.

Christine walked down the crowed space, the images of the people around her a blur. She was on cloud nine. All she could see was the large mahogany double doors of the room that concealed within its white walls the man who had consumed her thoughts, the man who had entered her dreams.

Knocking lightly on the door, she awaited permission to enter. To her surprise, Erik was not alone in the office. Raoul was seated across the desk, listening attentively to his boss.

"That will be all Mr. Chatsworth." Erik wanted him out of the room as soon as he saw Christine walk through the door.

Raoul rose from his seat, walking to Christine.

"Can we talk later?" His voice was low, only meant for her ears to hear. But his question had not escaped Erik.

"Ms. DeMarco will be busy doing her job, something which you are apparently not doing."

Raoul looked down at the floor, clearing his throat as Erik's comment washed over him. Christine was infuriated with the man, but it stilled pained her to see the manner in which Raoul was taking Erik's sharp words.

"With all do respect sir," he began, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "This is a private matter between Christine and I."

"Let me make this perfectly clear, Mr. Chatsworth," Erik rose to his feet, his hands resting on the desk. The way Raoul had acted during the meeting when speaking to Christine had not escaped him. Frankly, he had been ready to fire Raoul on the spot. "While in this office you will regard Ms. DeMarco as your colleague. That means you are to address her as you do everyone else, as well as show her the same level of respect. Any private matters will not be discussed while you are here. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

Christine watched her fiancé exist with his tail tucked between his legs. Erik had been nothing short of brutal.

"That was harsh." A frown had settled on her brow, making her eyes darken and glisten with clear displeasure.

Erik walked to Christine, stopping just inches away. That devilish smile of his, which always made Christine's heart explode in excitement, made all thoughts of Raoul and how Erik had spoken to him vanish. All that registered was that this dark, handsome, and apparently romantic man was in front of her, studying her face with those magical amber pools.

"I didn't know you were a Herrick fan," she finally said after what had appeared to be a lifetime of silence.

"I'm not. But I quite like that poem."

"Oh. And why is that?" She already knew the answer. The poem he had chosen ended in a rather forward manner.

"Do you recall the last verses of that poem, Christine?"

"No. I don't think so." She played the card of ignorance, wanting to hear his sultry, dark voice, recite the poem.

"Allow me to jolt your memory." He moved closer, his right arm circling her waist till she was pressed flush against him. She knew they were in the office, that someone could walk in and see them. She also knew that Raoul was right outside. But she did not care. For some odd reason, she truly did not care.

Erik's soft lips rested against her ear, the words dipping like sweet honey.

_There is an act that will more fully please:  
Kissing and glancing, soothing, all make way  
But to the acting of this private play:  
Name it I would; but, being blushing red,  
The rest I'll speak when we meet both in bed._

Erik placed a tender kiss on her neck, smiling to himself when he felt Christine's hand rise to rest on his shoulder. He continued to kiss the creamy flesh, slowly making his way to her jaw line, up her cheek. His lips claimed everything but her lips, and he knew it was driving her insane.

Finally his lips came to level with hers, hovering above them like a falcon over it's prey. He felt her hand slither to the back of his neck, applying pressure to pull him closer to her.

"You should get back to work." At the sound of those words, her eyes shot open and saw him grinning. Erik began to pull away, but Christine was not about to let him. Her grip on his neck tightened, pulling him closer until his lips pressed against hers. It was not long till the simple kiss turned to a crazed one, consuming the breaths of both.

With a devilish smile to match his, Christine pushed him away.

"I need to get back to work."

She freed herself from his embrace, turning away. The groan of a frustrated man rung in the room. As she stood at the threshold, she gave him a playful smile just as the door shut.


	16. Intruder

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera_

Chapter 16: Intruder

Had her eyes been wired shut since the moment they had met? Maybe a spell had been cast upon her, a spell which hid all the faults the man had housed from the start. She could not have possibly chosen to associate with such a creature for years and years with a clear mind.

Christine paced around the living room, muttering to herself, swearing under her breath. Raoul had left less than an hour ago, with the diamond ring clutched in his hand. Yes, an hour had passed since his departure yet the memory of it all, the words that that man had spoken still rung clear in her head.

They had driven to her home right after work, silent. Christine felt awkward sitting next to him, and so very fearful of what she was about to do. Once they stepped foot in the apartment, it seemed that the gates of hell had broken, unleashing enraged demons that had been imprisoned for more years than one would care count.

Christine had wanted for them to separate in a fairly peaceful manner, but it became obvious that not such thing could be done once he revealed to her the reason for his extended stay in Boston.

London. He was going to have them move to London because he had been offered a better job, a job which he had accepted without even talking to her first. He had made the final arrangements, signed the last of the contracts when he was in Boston. But that was not even the part which had forced her into a state of insanity. No. It was the fact that the man refused to understand that he could not make such a life alerting decision on his own.

_"I do not understand what you are so upset about," _he kept on repeating. _"It will help further my career. It is the best thing that has ever happened to me."_

Listening to him gloating over his job, over the fact that he had been chosen and would live a life of riches and glamour in London, she realized who this man truly was. Raoul had never been the selfless prince charming of her dreams. The man who stood by her was nothing more than an egocentric creature, a money hungry, careless man. All this time she had been afraid of hurting him, but after her had spoken, she did not want to have anything to do with him anymore.

As if that had not been enough, when Christine said those little words that would forever separate them, Raoul responded by stating: _"But the wedding plans have already been made."_

That was the reason they two needed to stay together? Because of the wedding? He went on to say something about love and their lives together, but Christine could no longer hear him. That single, simple phrase had, by itself, ended it all for her. The sight of the man was making her stomach act up, twisting, wanting to pour out all its content.

Now that he was gone, there was not an ounce of regret or sadness. No tears wet her eyes. There was only anger flooding her veins, anger that was directed at herself. How could she have been so stupid, so blind?

Her raged pacing abruptly stopped when a strange noise from the bedroom caught her attention. The anger was soon replaced by fear, fear that someone was trying to break in.

Against her better judgment, she found herself taking small, silent steps toward her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, but there were no lights turned on, thus she could see nothing inside except the window.

With a trembling hand, she pushed the door, opening it further. She took a few steps inside, her eyes scanning the darkness before she summoned the courage to hit the switch for the lights. The fear was lifted from her heart when she realized no one was inside the room, and that the window was still shut.

As she released a sigh of relief, the door behind her slammed shut, the walls trembling at the thunderous noise. With an impending scream on her lips, Christine made to spin around, but was stopped by a strong arm that grabbed her at her midsection, pulling her backwards against an unknown body, and a hand covered her mouth before she could cry out.

------------------------------------

Erik had not been able to stand still. He was in his office, sitting, his fingers tapping on the black desk. For nights like this, not even alcohol could serve as a cure. In fact, drinking only served in further reminding him of the problem.

What was the problem? Christine, of course.

Looking down at the computer clock, he watched the numbers turn to exactly 11:00. A smile tugged at his lips, as the solution to his problem came.

Jumping out of the chair, he grabbed his keys, and raced out of his office, out of his apartment.

------------------------------------

Christine stood paralyzed in her captive's deadly embrace. She felt his lips lower to the level of her ear, his breath pricking her skin.

"You smell like spring," said the man in her ear. His voice was low, husky…familiar. Wrinkles etched on her smooth forehead as a frown encased her face. Her hand fell upon the one that rested atop of her lips pulling it down until her lips were freed.

"Erik, you bastard!" she screamed. His response was a soft chuckle followed by a kiss on her neck. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Christine began to struggle against his iron grip, a useless struggle.

"I needed to see you." His lips continued to taste her neck, groaning at the contact. His other hand slipped down her neck, caressing her delicate skin with his fingers.

"I have a door." She had ceased her struggle and could feel her eyes begin to close from the magic his fingers and lips created.

"This is more fun."

He slowly turned her in his arms until he could gaze upon her eyes. His hand rested on her warm cheek as his elegant finger gently caressed her bottom lip.

"What makes you think I'll allow this?"

"You should know by now, Christine, 'no' is not an answer I accept."

She watched as he leaned down, slowly, stopping but a centimeter away from kissing her. His eyes studied the contours of her lips, admiring the twin petals as if they were priceless gemstones.

Finally closing the short space between them, their lips met in a kiss that Christine had never experienced before. It was soft, gentle, as if feathers were pressed against her lips. Yet even in it's softness, she could feel the passion that rested at the core, brighter than ever.

Christine's hands traveled to the collar of Erik's leather jacket, pushing it down his shoulders until it dropped to the floor. Her fingers began moving down, undoing his shirt's buttons one by one until Erik's sculpted chest came into full view. Having removed the shirt as well, she set off to unfasten his belt, but found Erik's hands landing atop of hers.

Erik broke the kiss, looking down at Christine with a smile.

"I believe I'm entitled to two articles of clothing seeing that you have removed two of mine."

"You're entitled to nothing," she said with a playful smile. Her hands wiggled in his grip as she tried to unfasten the metallic buckle. "My house. My rules."

Erik grabbed both her hand, spinning her around until her back hit his chest. With both her hands secured in one of his, he leaned down, kissing her neck.

"You seem to forget I'm not fond of rules."

His free hand traveled up her waist, feeling the delicate skin beneath her shirt. His magical fingers began tracing lines on her abdomen. The combination of his passionate kisses on the curve of her neck, and those elegant fingers were driving her mad.

"Not. Fair." The two words erupted from an exquisite moan that rung clear in the empty room. Her face was pressed against his chest, her hands struggling to get free. "Erik," she managed to say, her eyes tightly shut.

"Yes, Ms. Demarco?"

God she wanted to kiss him. No. She needed to kiss him. If his lips were not on hers within the next few minutes, Christine was sure her body would simply stop working, that death was going to claim her.

"Fine," she nearly screamed. When her hands were free at last, she spun around, hungrily feasting on his glorious lips. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

When her thirst had been temporarily quenched, she broke the kiss, taking in a labored breath. Her hands slid from his shoulders, pushing him to the bed till he was sitting on it. She placed one simple kiss on his lips before straddling his lap. His hands automatically went to her hips, holding her in place.

"What is it you want to take off first?" she asked, her lips a hair away from his ear. The sound of Christine's voice sent the most exquisite shiver up his spine.

He answered her question by sliding his hands up her shirt, pushing the material that concealed her upper body. Then he watched as her hands slid from his shoulders to the edge of her shirt, lifting it above her head.

"You have one more," she said as she tossed the shirt away, her eyes never leaving his.

"This most definitely has to go next." He leaned down, kissing down her collarbone, to the swells of her breasts. As he kissed the base of the creamy globes, his hands traveled up her back to the hooks that held the black bra in place. When the hooks were undone, he watched the straps slide down her bare arms until the bra no longer touched her body.

Erik's hands traveled to her breasts, gently squeezing them, molding them in his hands.

"My turn," she said with a devilish smile as she tried to find her concentration amidst the pleasure. Christine's hands slithered up his neck until her fingers rested on the edge of his white mask.

When Erik realized what she was doing, his hands froze in place. Christine had seen him before without the mask, yet he was still so frightened that she would simply back away from him once the mask was removed. His fear, his anxiety, had not escaped Christine, who watched his amber eyes transform.

"It's ok," she whispered to him just as the mask was lifted from his face. With a sweet, companionate smile, she leaned down, kissing him in reassurance. Her fingers caressed the marred flesh of his left cheek as the kiss took a passionate turn.

Erik still could not believe that Christine would allow anything to take place when she could see just how hideous his face was. This woman was unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Rising from the foot of the bed, with this incredible woman hanging on to him, he laid her down on the bed, their lips never once parting.

The first night they had spent together, they had simply sought relief from the tension that had been building up. But this time, there was no rush, no sense of urgency. There was only them: two lovers who were cherishing every second, every touch, every kiss, every whisper.

They slowly removed whatever remained of each-others clothing. Their fingers ran across every inch of naked skin, worshipping each-other. Even though Erik knew Christine was beneath him, her hands and lips grazing his skin, he still found it difficult to believe it was all true.

Erik drove himself within her slowly, his eyes watching her face transform in unparalleled pleasure. His name was the only word that made its way out of her delicious mouth. Her pleasured moans transformed the surroundings, bringing the heavens down to earth, creating a place that words could not describe.

When they both collapsed, their hearts pounding, their bodies still shaking from the after shocks, Erik looked into her violet eyes, silent. He scanned her glowing skin, along with the smile that lit her eyes.

Christine looked up at him, the smile beginning to vanish as fear was settling in. His face was free from any emotions, as were his eyes. The cold front, and his silence was beginning to frighten her. Had she done something wrong? Maybe he was upset about her removing his mask.

"Erik, is—"

"You're so beautiful." Erik continued to study her face, his fingers rising to push aside a stay curl. He moved to her side, pulling her close to him. His hands wrapped around her in a tight embrace. "So beautiful," he repeated as he kissed her forehead.

Christine wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. Her eyes shut when she felt tears begin to sting. Raoul had told her many times that she was beautiful, but Erik had been the first to make her feel just that.


	17. Fairytale Endings

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera_

**I am really sorry I have not updated the last few weeks. I was away on vacation and had no access to a computer. **

**The poem I used in this chapter is obviously not mine. It's called "Flames" by ****George Sterling**

Chapter 17: Fairytale Endings

Her eyes fluttered open, her body awakening from a deep slumber. A great smile emerged on her lips as she stretched, her muscles preparing themselves for work. It was when her eyes began to wander about the room that she realized she was alone.

Christine sat up, looking at the empty side of the bed, saddened to see that Erik had left without as much as a "goodbye." Her fingers ran across the curve that had been imprinted on the pillow, wishing that his head still rested there.

With a sigh, she turned to her alarm clock, but instead her eyes fell upon an object which made her heart flutter.

_Erik._

Sitting up in bed, she took the rose that rested on the nightstand in her hand, inhaling its delicate scent. It looked exactly like the one she had found in her office the other day. And sure enough, beside the elegant flower lay a folded sheet of paper. Taking the note, she unfolded the white paper, the familiar writing coming into view.

_Thou art that madness of supreme desire,  
Which lacking, beauty is but dross and clay.  
Within thy veins is all the fire of day  
And all the stars divinity of fire.  
Thine are the lips and loins that never tire,  
And thine the bliss that makes my soul dismay.  
Upon thy breast what god at midnight lay,  
To make thy flesh the music of his lyre?  
Ah! such alone should know thy loveliness!  
Ah! such alone should know thy full caress,  
O goddess of intolerable delight!  
I beg of Fate the guerdon and the grace,  
Far beyond death, to know in thine embrace  
Eternal rapture in eternal night._

Exhaling slowly, she closed her eyes, a dim blush decorating her cheeks. Smiling to herself, she held the note close to her heart.

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The workday dragged into the moon lit night. Twin mountains made of crisp papers stood on her desk. Her eyes could no longer make out the words, her brain no longer able to process the content of what she was supposedly reading.

Groaning in frustration she tried to keep her eyes open, desperately tried to focus as she started to reread the same sentence once again. But it was no use. All she could see now were black spots and the headache that was traveling down the back of her neck was not helping.

Christine shut her eyes for a few minutes hoping that she would be able to recover. The few minutes, however, stretched on to longer than expected. Her face rested upon the numerous papers, which to her felt softer than any pillow. She could feel herself entering the unseen world of dreams.

As she drifted to sleep, she could hear the voice of the man she had been daydreaming about: Erik. She could hear him calling her name. She swore she could even smell him, that unique natural fragrance that she could not get enough of.

"Christine," she heard whisper, the melodic voice soothing her, helping her fall deeper into sleep like a gentle lullaby. Only this time the voice was followed by a light grip that gently shook her shoulder until she regained consciousness.

"Christine, what are you still doing here?"

Erik stood beside her, watching her eyes open, staring up at him in confusion. He had been trying to reach her for some time but he had not been successful.

"Working." Her head rose from her desk, her eyes blinking at a rapid rate as she forced herself to waken. "There was a lot to do."

Erik picked up some of the things she had been working on. Quickly scanning the papers, he frowned. Looking back down at Christine, who appeared to be on the verge of collapsing, he was ready to fire everyone who worked for him.

"Why are you doing this Christine? This isn't part of your job?"

"I know. I was just trying to help out—"

"Help out!?" he screamed. "By doing everything yourself?"

"I thought that if I—" she stopped, unable to continue. Looking down at her desk, she exhaled softly. "I just wanted them to like me."

Christine had tried her best to not let the loath of the employees get to her. Instead of ignoring them she began trying to get to know them, to possibly become friends with them. Nadir was going to leave at the end of the week, which meant she would be left alone in the building with no one to talk to.

"Christine," he began softly, knowing that she was upset and not wanting to distress her any further. "There is no room for 'liking' in business. I need a shark up here to make sure everyone does their job, not a cute little lamb."

"I think you hired the wrong person."

"I don't make mistakes when it comes to my company."

"I'm not a shark, Erik," she whispered, finally raising her eyes to look up at him.

"Well, your performance yesterday at that meeting suggests otherwise."

"I was just mad." Christine rose from the chair, turning to face away from Erik. Her hand rose to her forehead, rubbing it vigorously, trying to find a solution to her problems.

"You have to take control, Christine. You have to fight back. Don't let a single thing slide by, no matter how small. Be ruthless, merciless. These people respond to fear, not friendliness."

"I don't kn—"

"No." Erik walked to her, turning her around so he could look at her as he spoke. "I need the confident, self-reliant, fiery Christine. I need you to argue with them like you argue with me, like you argued yesterday."

Erik was having a hard time understanding where his strong willed Christine had gone. The woman with dark circles beneath her eyes, the woman who was ready to wave a white flag was not the Christine who yelled back at him, the Christine that gave him orders.

Christine smiled up at him and gave him a faint nod. Her arms rose to circle his neck.

"Thank you."

Erik leaned down and captured her lips in a chaste kiss before resting his forehead against hers.

"Stay with me tonight?"

Christine had been thinking all day about him, about the pervious night. She wanted nothing more than to go home with him and allow their passion to play out, but she truly was not up for it. She could barely keep her eyes open.

"I'm tired, Erik. I just want to get home."

"My home's closer," he murmured as he gazed down upon her angelic eyes, a smile emerging on his face.

"I was going to take a shower."

"My place is equipped with indoor plumbing."

"Listen, Erik, I am not—"

Before she could finish her sentence, his lips were upon hers, kissing her until she melted in his arms. Pulling away slowly, he caressed her warm cheek, gazing down upon her eyes.

"I just need you next to me," he whispered before placing another kiss on her delicious lips. "Please," he pleaded, hoping she would change her mind. Erik knew that without her lying next to him, he would not be able to get a wink of sleep.

It felt strange, foreign, for him to feel such dependence upon someone else. All day he had sat at his desk thinking of her, dreaming of her, reliving every second they had shared together. Without Christine near him, he felt lost, almost as if a part of his life had been ripped away from him.

"Alright." Christine pulled him in for another quick kiss, not wanting to separate from him. She still could not understand how she could feel such a strong connection to a man she had met but a few weeks ago, a connection she knew she had never had with Raoul in all the years they had shared.

"We should go," he whispered, unable to pull his arms away from her.

"We should."

The seconds ticked away turning to minutes, yet neither of them seemed ready to let go. Christine's feet were killing her, yet as long as Erik was beside her she did not care if she was standing bare foot on fire.

With one last kiss, she felt her feet lose touch with the ground. Christine found herself resting in his arms, her legs dangling in the air. Smiling, she rested her head on his chest, never questioning his actions. The steady beating of his heart lulled her to sleep. The last thing Christine remembered before falling pray to the hands of slumber were Erik's eyes, which gazed down at her even as he walked down the deserted hallways with her in his arms.

----------------------------------------------

She looked out at the city from the large floor to ceiling window. The room was consumed by the steady breathing of the man that lay next to her, with his arms wrapped protectively around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Christine found herself playing with the smooth skin of his hand, drawing lazy patterns on its back as she smiled to herself. She had never been this happy, never felt so safe, so wanted. She had been so tired, ready to collapse just an hour ago, yet she found herself unable to sleep now.

"It's three in the morning," whispered the man behind her. "I thought you said you wanted to sleep."

"It's hard to sleep knowing that such a gorgeous man is next to me."

When he did not respond to her comment, Christine turned to face him with a slight frown. He seemed distant, lost in his thoughts.

"It's doesn't bother you," he said as his eyes met hers. He did not need to explain any further. Christine knew this was about the mask he wore, about the scaring that lay beneath it.

"Why would it?" she asked as she ran her hand along side the cool surface of the mask. Leaning forward she placed a passionate kiss on his tender lips, causing a big grin to spread over Erik's features. She pulled away and rested her head on his broad chest, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance that adored his body.

"Dr. Woo once told me battle scars should be worn with pride."

Battles. He had had hundreds of battles, dozens of wars, and countless arguments. The world never seemed to give him any peace, never allowed him to get his slice of serenity. Is that what his scars represented? His battles with society? The battles that had raged since his birth?

"What if the scars are from a defeat rather than triumph? What pride is there in that?"

Christine rose from his chest, looking up at him. Erik never spoke of his scars, of his face. She knew not to push him and that hopefully in due time he would tell her everything.

"You tried. You fought. That is all that matters. And that is something to be proud of." Christine voice rang clear and strong. Looking down at her, Erik was amazed at the seriousness that rested in the depth of her eyes.

She lay back down, suddenly feeling sleepier than ever.

"Leave him," he said as he stared into space. Erik was not sure what had possessed him to say that. Maybe the fact that Christine was defending his scars without knowing anything about his past pushed him to say just what had been on his mind for quite some time.

"What?" Her eyes had shot open, frowning as she looked up at him.

"I don't want to share you." Erik's eyes traveled to the stunned face of the woman who lay by his side. "Don't—don't say anything."

Christine couldn't even if she wanted to. She wanted to scream out that she had already left Raoul, but Erik's request had left her paralyzed. She felt something for Erik, she had felt something for him for some time now, and what Erik had said showed her that he probably felt something for her as well.

Her grip around his midsection tightened, pressing herself against him. She kissed his chest and felt his arms tighten their hold on her as well. As she lay there, Christine realized it was not Prince Charming she had needed all those years. No. It was a Black Knight, a warrior, a man who had experienced the cruelties of the world and had survived. And maybe, even after everything she had faced in her short life, she could still have her very own fairytale ending.


	18. Pain in Love

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera_

Chapter 18: Pain in Love

She awoke to an empty bed. The pillow that hugged her face had captured Erik's scent, and held it tightly within its silk fibers. Christine shut her eyes, inhaling the intoxicating aroma that was uniquely his.

Her hand traveled across the soft surface of the pillow, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed. Smiling, she found herself begin to go back fall back into sleep's embrace. A soft chuckle broke through sleep's hold, forcing her eyes to part just enough to give her a glimpse of the intruder.

"Morning," she whispered as she inhaled deeply.

Erik walked to her, sitting on the bed by her side. His golden eyes watched over the angelic creature that lay between the cream colored sheets, the creature that lay peacefully in the middle of his bed. His bed. That was where she belonged. No where else but there.

Caressing her warm, tender cheek, he watched her gentle eyes flutter close and heard her purr like a content kitten. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her forehead. His lips lingered on her warm skin, cherishing the feel of it. Pulling back, he continued to glaze her cheek, watching over her.

"I have to get up," said his angel as she revealed her violet eyes to him.

"Not necessarily." With a wicked grin, he leaned down, capturing her lips with his. His hands tangled with her soft curls, deepening the passionate kiss. "You could stay right where you are."

"Work," said Christine in his lips. She watched him grin as he left her lips and began kissing down her neck, his bright, fiery eyes vanishing in her hair.

"I'm sure your boss will understand."

"I don't know. He's a pretty strict guy."

"He would make an exception for you."

Christine pushed his shoulders till his lips could no longer work their magic on her body. She watched the disappointment well up in his eyes, like a child who had been denied his favorite toy.

"I need to take a shower." She rose, pushing the sheets aside to get out of bed. Erik remained seated; his amber eyes following her every move. Even after the bathroom door was closed behind her, she could sense him watching her.

----------------------------------

"What are you doing?" Christine asked as she walked through the kitchen doors. Erik's large black robe hung loosely on her body, the sleeves covering her hands completely. Smiling she walked closer to him, trying to see what he was up too.

When she stopped right next to him, studying the contents in the pan, Erik found himself smiling. Her glowing skin had a hint of red to it from the heated water of the shower. The mahogany locks stood plastered on her cheeks, and formed a magnificent cape on her small shoulders. Not to mention the fact that she looked nothing short of adorable in his robe.

Breaking away from his task, he wrapped his arms around her, and gave Christine an exceptionally passionate kiss that left her breathless. It was a kiss he would have never broken had the food not been sizzling in the pan. Taking a calming breath, he turned back to the task at hand.

"Since when can you cook?"

"Since my grandmother believed that men are lazy and need to learn to take care of themselves."

Chuckling, she pushed herself up until she was sitting on the black stone counter, her feet dangling in mid air. She watched, with fascination, Erik's hands move with expertise. She could have never imagined him over a hot stove, cooking.

"She used to say that a man who cannot cook, clean and sew has no business marrying." Turning off the stove, he stared at the golden colored bread. He could feel the presence of the aged, strict woman. He could feel her sharp blue eyes watching over his shoulder, making sure he was not burning anything.

"I spent every summer with her, and every summer she had me perfect the skills she believed to be important." Erik continued to watch the cooked food. "She refused to have people serve her. Always did everything herself."

"She sounds like an amazing woman."

"She was." Erik turned to look at Christine, a smile tugging at his lips as he gazed into her eyes.

"When did she pass-if you don't mind me asking."

"I was eighteen, so about 14 years ago." Closing his eyes, his chest began to tremble with laughter. Sharking his head lightly, he turned back to his cooking. "Even after she passed away she managed to cause problems."

The day her body had been lowered into the cold ground the disputes had begun between her two sons. The arguments were, of course, about their inheritance. The woman in the wooden box had not been gone for more than a few days and her sons were busying themselves arguing over her money. Everyone knew they had never gotten along with their mother, and no one was truly surprised by their actions.

The surprising part did not come till later that evening, when the will was finally read. The woman had split the inheritance in three parts, in three unequal parts. A quarter of the money was left to her eldest grandson, Alex. Another quarter to "the other one." The remainder of the money was for Erik.

The paled faces of his relatives were absolutely priceless. The studded expressions of his father and uncle were enough to make him break into laughter. The thought of inheriting such a large sum of money from his grandmother had never once crossed his mind. He had imagined that once she had left this world, everything would have been split between her two sons.

But that was not the only "surprise" the woman had left behind. Oh no. The will ended in a rather creative way.

_Alex and Nick: __T__hank you grandfather, for it was his wish that you receive something upon my departure. If it were only up to me, the two of you would not receive a penny. You are ungrateful, spoiled brats, and deserve nothing. _

_A__s for my sons, you received ownership of your__ father's company after he died. Therefore,__ you have enough money to live out your useless lives in the comforts you were once provided with in my house._

_Lastly, to Erik.__ You are destined for greatness. Never bow dow__n to the level of those brainless twats__. Defy them all, that is the only way you will succeed. You, my boy, are the only true Rousseau that stands in this room. _

Those where the words that were written by her hand at the end of the will. Those were the words that sparked anger between the men of the family. Those were the words that helped Erik break further away from the family he had the misfortune to be born into.

He missed her. Erik was probably the only person in the family who genuinely felt that. But the fact was that his grandmother had grown tired of this world. The only person she had ever openly shown affection to had been her husband, and with him gone she had secluded herself. She hated her neighbors, her family and relatives. She hated just about everyone. Actually, saying she hated them was an understatement.

"She'd be proud to see you now."

"I highly doubt that," he said as he chuckled. Old Mrs. Rousseau would never praise anyone for anything. She found that praising someone was simply idiotic. It was a characteristic that everyone found chilling, everyone except Erik. It taught him to do as he pleased, that the opinions of others did not matter.

"Go sit. Breakfast is almost ready."

Christine slipped down the counter, her bare feet making contact with the cold tiles. Smiling her fingers softly grazed his cheek before placing a tender kiss on his smiling lips. She could not remember having ever seen Erik appear genuinely happy.

"What is it?" he asked after a prolonged period of silence. Erik watched her lightly shake her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving his. "Christine―" he began, only to be silence by her lips. She pulled back, looking up at him with those eyes, those eyes which he could gaze upon for the rest of his life.

Erik's lips came crashing down, savagely kissing her. His hands slid to her back, pressing her body against his. He had allowed her to walk away that morning, just a few minutes ago, but refused to allow her to slip away again.

Picking her up, he walked to the island, all the while feasting on her lips. There were no more protests on her part, no more talk of work. He sat her down on the cold granite top, his hands beginning to slide down to the front of the black robe in search of the tie that held her body from his eyes and hands.

"Erik, are you--oh shit!" yelled a third person. The kitchen door opened and closed. Nadir's face was not seen, but his voice heard. "Sorry," he said from outside the kitchen, followed by his light footsteps.

Erik pulled away from her lips with an angry growl. Christine's hands remained wrapped around his neck, holding him close, not wanting to let him go.

"Don't move," he ordered before giving her a quick kiss.

Christine released him from her arms, immediately missing the warmth of his body. She watched him leave, that adorable frown on his face.

Adorable?

That was the last word that anyone would use to describe the way his face cringed when he was angry. For some odd, unexplainable reason, she found it endearing. Even his uncontrollable temper was beginning to grow on her.

Was this normal? Maybe she was losing it.

Watching Erik re-enter the kitchen, with a key-card in hand, made all insecurities melt away. The flames that were lit in those passion filled, amber eyes made a wicked smile appear on her face. Thoughts that should make a normal person blush consumed her mind.

"Where were we?" he asked in that sexy, husky voice that set her blood racing.

Christine locked her arms around his neck once again, her eyes traveling to his lips.

"We were about to have breakfast," she whispered as she placed a series of small kisses on his delicious lips.

Groaning, Erik's fingers traveled to the back of her head, pulling her close. In all his life, he could not recall having had a sweeter, more delectable breakfast.

---------------------------------

Christine sat at her desk. A pen rested in her hand, papers in front of her. Her mind, however, refused to focus on the work that lay before her. Her head was filled with images of her masked man. She would have given anything to have Erik there, near her.

Her daydreaming was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. A tall man walked inside, stopping in front of her desk, watching her.

"Ms. DeMarco, I need the files on Sacon."

"You can't get them yourself, Mr. Larson?" she asked with a strict frown. She was done being pushed around by these people. Frankly, she did not care if they all hated her. Who would want to be liked by selfish, arrogant, back-stabbers anyway?

"They are in Mr. Rousseau's office," he snapped. "I'm not allowed in there."

"Fine," she said as she rose from her seat. Before exiting her office, she turned back to the man in the navy suit. "The paperwork on that client is due in less than an hour." She stared at the man in confusion. "That is the only account you have been working on." The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. "What have you been doing all day?"

"Working. And Mr. Khan gives me till the end of the day."

"I am sorry if I have given you the impression that I am an idiot. Paperwork is due at noon, just like everyone else's. You will not be given extra time because you decided to slack off."

"This is ridiculous," he yelled. "You expect me to get everything done in two hours."

Christine walked toward the man with slow, confident steps; the stiletto heels clicking with each step. She looked up at the man, who was significantly taller than her.

"Raise your voice at me one more time and you will be sorry."

"What are you going to do?" he asked with an arrogant smile. "Fire me?"

"No," she responded with a tender smile. "I will drown you in so much paperwork, you will never breathe fresh air again."

Larson's face paled. The way she spoke, the smile that adored her lips, scared him more than anyone had in the office with the exception of Erik. He had heard rumors about her outbursts in the meeting, but had not believed them. Now, he was sure they had underestimated this woman's capabilities.

---------------------------------

It was breathtaking, flawless, perfection encased in the body of a dragonfly. The light hit the colorless gems creating small rainbows before her eyes. The black wings shimmered in the sunlight.

Christine held the velvety box in her hands, unable to tear her eyes away from the necklace that lay inside. She had been looking for the files and had stumbled upon the box in the drawer of Erik's desk. Unable to stop herself, she had opened it.

Her breath was caught deep within her lungs. Her heart had stopped, the blood no longer flowing through her veins. The room around her had vanished as well. Nothing stood in the world but her and that necklace.

Unable to hold back any longer, she allowed the tears that were glistening in her eyes to freely roll down her cheeks. Quiet sobs made her chest tremble, shake with conflicting emotions. Never had she felt such overwhelming happiness and bitterness at the same time.

Christine ran her finger across the magnificent wings, and as she did everything came back, all the wonderful memories she shared with the only woman in her childhood who ever cared for her. But hidden within the bliss she had once experienced were the heartaches, the loneliness, the feeling of hopelessness that stained her memories.

Another tear slipped down her cheek, traveling to her chin and landing on the dragonfly. Her hand rose to wipe away the salty liquid that continued to make its way down her eyes, desperately trying to regain control of her emotions.

She needed to go see Erik. She needed to hold him in her arms, to feel his body against hers, to have his lips upon hers―

"Christine."

Looking up from the necklace, her eyes landed on the one person she had wanted to see. Erik stood at the door, watching her with what appeared to be concern. He was holding his breath, not knowing how she would react.

Christine placed the necklace on the desk, and before Erik knew it, darted across the room, her arms wrapped around his midsection, her face pressed against his chest. With her eyes closed, she held on to him, praying that he would never leave her.

Erik had come in that morning to pick up a few things from his office. Seeing Christine with the necklace in her hands had caught him completely off guard. This had not been the matter in which he had wanted her to receive the necklace. What had worried him, however, was the possibility that she would not like it.

His arms rose to embrace her, his chin resting on top of her curls. He could feel her small frame shake from silent sobs, and the hot tears seeping through his shirt. He did not know what to say, or if he should say anything for that matter. So, he remained silent, simply holding her.

"Thank you," she murmured in his shirt. Sniffling, she pulled slightly away, brining a hand to wipe away the fresh tears. Looking down at his shirt she saw the wet spots that stained his white dress shirt.

"I'm sorry. Your shirt―" she said as her fingers traced the wet areas.

Erik captured her hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each finger, admiring them. When he was done with the fingers, he leaned down pressing his lips against hers. Christine immediately responded, kissing him back with burning passion. Hidden within that kiss, however, lay something else, something different, a piece that had not been there before. It was a new sensation, yet it felt oddly familiar.

When they parted, Erik looked down into her eyes that had lit with joy. A bright smile had encased her glowing face. In seeing her smile he knew exactly what that "new thing" in the kiss was.

Love.

And with the realization, a whirlwind of huddled memories and pain came rushing back, hitting him full force. He smiled back at Christine, desperately trying to mask the storm that had been unleashed within his mind and body.

**NA: I apologize for not having updated in so long. ****A combination of things have**** prevented me from working on the story, mainly rev****iewing for Organic Chem. ****I have an accumulative test com****ing up on the topics from ****Orgo**** and I could not remember anything from last semester****Orgo**** II is going to be hell, I can tell. Again, I am very sorry for the delayed update. **


	19. An Easy Way Out

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera._

Chapter 19: An Easy Way Out

Christine swung the door open, her eyes searching for Erik. She had not seen him since that morning…since the necklace. She could still feel his warm fingers on her skin as the cool chain was wrapped around the base of her neck.

As she smiled, her fingers trailed up her collarbone until they made contact with the now warm pendant. She still could not believe that the necklace was around her neck, that the dragonfly she had lost years ago was proudly dangling from the chain.

"Erik," she called out as she walked from room to room.

There was no sign of him. Frowning in disappointment, she sat on the couch and turned on the TV. She would wait for him. Kicking her shoes off, she stared at the moving images in the black box, not truly paying any attention to what was happening. Erik consumed all thoughts, Erik and where he could have gone.

Christine looked over at the red digital clock numbers. It was nearly 9:00. He did not have any meetings or dinners scheduled, at least none that she knew about. And Christine had never seen Erik leave the apartment for anything other than business.

_You're just being paranoid._

Shaking away bad thoughts regarding Erik's whereabouts, her eyes refocused on the television.

\/-/\-\/-/\-\/

Erik sat at his black piano, his hands resting atop of three pressed ivory keys. The tune had long died out, melted into the darkness. He stared blankly at the black notes that hung on the straight lines of the music sheet. His eyes scanned the words below them, his mind unable to make sense of them. Shutting his eyes, he took in a trembled breath, a scared breath.

He had not slept all night. Almost twelve hours had passed since he had held Christine in his arms in the office. He had rushed to his apartment right after they had parted ways and locked himself in the music room. The thick, soundproof walls helped him shut the world out and block the sound of his music from leaving his domain No one, besides him, had ever set foot in the room. Christine had been warned when she was first hired to stay out of it as well. If she knew what lay inside the large, crammed space her view of him would change before she could bat her eyes.

The sun was due to rise any minute to wake the rest of the city. Though sleep deprived, Erik had never felt more awake in his life. The torment that rampaged in his mind refused to give him a second of peace, of stillness, of the absolute calmness he had sought all his life. The pain swam in his veins like a demonic serpent, attacking every inch of his insides.

"God," he whispered under his breath, "what am I going to do?"

No answers came, only the deafening silence of emptiness, loneliness. He had been here before. He had asked the same question before, in that same room. Just as before, he was left to battle his demons on his own.

For ten years he had tried to ease Renee from his mind. It seemed that her image, the pain that followed the memories, had subsided once the dark haired woman had walked into his life. Christine had helped to ease away the nightmares that had plagued him for almost a decade. Who would have known that she would also be the reason those nightmares would return?

He loved her. Without an ounce of doubt, he loved Christine. Though love gushes though one's body, filling it with joy and radiance, there is always a price to pay. It was a price Erik had already paid, a price he would not survive being able to pay again. His heart had suffered enough, another blow would drain it of what energy it had left.

His fingers pressed another key on the piano. And another. And another. Music had always offered him a sense of comfort, a way to break the loneliness that captured his heart. No, he was not alone for he had Christine now. But holding in the torture, the memories, trying to deal with the storm himself, always made him feel like he stood alone in the world.

Rising from his wooden seat, he walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his black shirt, he went to change. With his fingers still working on the plastic circles, he stopped in his tracks. Sleeping on his bed, still fully dressed in a black suit rested his Christine. She lay curled up in the middle of the bed, on top of the silk comforter. She slept on her side, her hands tucked beneath her head.

God, she looked beautiful, happy. What if he were to become the reason she never smiled again? What if he destroyed her as he had destroyed Renee?

Suddenly, Christine's dark, mahogany hair transformed into long, straight, red strands. Her delicate features changed, her eyes snapping open to reveal cold brown pools. Slowly, the creature rose, her eyes not parting from Erik's. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring.

"_Are you happy now, my love?"_ she asked with a gentle, yet mocking voice. "_Are you?"_

Erik could not answer her. With rapid breaths he stared at the woman, frozen stiff, like a corpse in the early stages of _rigor mortis_.

"_Erik?"_ The voice had transformed, turned to a sweet, melodic ring that was flooded with concern. The red haired woman vanished, leaving behind Christine, the woman who was still sound asleep on his bed.

His hand ran roughly though his hair, nearly tearing the dark strands from his scalp. Turning around, he stormed out of the apartment, taking nothing with him. He needed to get out, to leave and clear his mind. There was only one place he knew to run to when life began to crumble around him, and he was going to run to it as fast as humanly possible.

\/-/\-\/-/\-\/

Confident fingers ran though the large red bow that was tightly tied to the neck of the crystal vase. Thin red ribbons cascaded down the vase, their tips almost touching the desk below. The curls the ribbons had been transformed into reminded him of her, of Christine, of her glorious hair.

His eyes rose higher, and at the top of the vase rested two dozen scarlet perfections. Fully bloomed blood red roses stood proud and tall, their green, outstretched hands creating a halo around them.

Taking out a folded, crisp, white card from his pocket, he exhaled slowly as his eyes scanned the fine, dark letters that contrasted beautifully to the blank background. His finger gently caressed the smooth surface of the card as a light smile claimed his lips. He read the note again and again, and as he did his smile widened.

Nothing could go wrong. Everything was going to fall into place just as it should.

\/-/\-\/-/\-\/

Christine walked inside her office, her bags falling at her feet. Dark circles had emerged beneath her eyes. Her creamy, glowing skin had been painted over with a sickening, dull yellow. With half closed eyes, she walked to the desk, collapsing on the chair.

Her hand reached out, pulling the phone closer. Her fingers ran over the black buttons with unimaginable speed. It was a number she had dialed over a hundred times over the past two nights. It was a number she would have been able to dial without even looking.

Voicemail picked up, again. The voice of a computer repeated a message she had heard all night. The loud beep rung in her ear as the message ended. Aggravated, tired and furious beyond a human's capacity to understand, she slammed the receiver on its base over and over again.

Christine eyed the phone with anger, as if it were the reason she could not get in touch with Erik. She had spent the night sitting by her phone, calling and waiting. After he had placed the necklace around her neck that morning, she had yet to hear or catch a glimpse of Erik.

She had gone straight to his apartment Wednesday night, but he had not been there. Thursday she had tried to call, but no one answered. He was nowhere to be found. Nadir had assured her that Erik was alright, that he disappeared for a few days every now and then.

But a few hours ago Nadir had boarded a plane that would take him away from the office for the next four weeks, leaving her behind with no one to tell her that Erik was fine and that he would reemerge soon. She had been left alone to oversee everyone and everything. There was pressure, there were deadlines and more responsibilities than she could count, yet none of it mattered, none of it was causing her to stay up half the night by her phone.

_Where are you, Erik?_

Her face fell on her hand, her eyes closing. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. He would not do something like this to her. The past few days he could not stay more than a few hours away from her, and now he had been gone for nearly two days. It did not add up.

With a frustrated sigh, her eyes opened slowly. This time they caught a glimpse of something that stood very much out of place. Standing at the corner of her desk, with files surrounding it, were flowers. She scanned them, a frown darkening her features. Reaching out, she pulled the white card that was nestled in the red flowers.

The present did not feel like something Erik would ever give her. The roses were a much lighter color than the ones she usually received, and these had bloomed. If they turned out to be from the masked man, she was ready to pick the vase up and throw it out the window. If he thought that flowers would erase the torment he had caused her, he had another thing coming.

Just as she had thought, the flowers had not been Erik's doing. The note she held in her hands was printed. The script was elegant with smooth curvy letters. Every note she had ever received from him had been hand written, and had never been short, passionless one liners.

She threw the note on the desk, not bothering to even read who had sent them. All that mattered was that they were not from Erik.

Christine was ready to break, ready to scream until every person from the four corners of the Earth heard her. What he was putting her through was madness, absolute insanity.

"Christine?" A calm, sweet voice entered her office from the opened door.

"What?" she spat back, not bothering to look up at the intruder. As she pushed around papers and files, her eyes shot open. The voice from the door…the flowers…the note.

Raoul.

Her eyes slowly moved from her desk, rising up until the face of the man came into view. And sure enough there he stood, dressed in his pressed suit and fake smile.

\/-/\-\/-/\-\/



Erik looked out of the sunlit balcony. The green forest stretched all around him. Civilization was scarce; the only signs that he was not alone were the terracotta colored rooftops of the other houses. Out at the horizon, the light blue skies hit the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea.

Even with the peace and complete silence that surrounded him, his mind could not help but race. With a heavy sigh he turned around, closing the balcony doors behind him. He looked about the room, the memories of his childhood rushing back.

This place had been his sanctuary. This house had been the only place that had ever felt like a home. Every inch of it had remained exactly the same, exactly as his grandmother had left it.

He was running again, trying to push away the problems that plagued his mind. Erik knew that running would not solve anything. He knew that by leaving New York, by leaving Christine, he was only causing more problems. But her needed to get away, needed to hide even if it was just for a few days.

"_Monsieur_," said the young woman in a pale blue uniform. "Your lunch is ready."

No. Running was not the answer, but it helped.

**Hello everyone. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update, but my computer broke down. I have lost quite a few documents and am working on rewriting them. **

**In case you do not remember, Erik's music room is mentioned very briefly in chapter 5, and will become the focal point of the coming chapters. **


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